


Suledin Enasal

by MaevesChild



Series: Vir Dirthara [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-02-28 01:47:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 50,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2714414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaevesChild/pseuds/MaevesChild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How does a former Tevinter slave, an almost mage, a woman marked with betrayal become the Herald of Andraste?  How does a broken thing put the world back together again?</p><p> </p><p>The story of Varania, Fenris's Sister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Run

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a bits and pieces retelling of Dragon Age Inquisition, where the Herald of Andraste is Varania, the sister of Fenris from DAII. There will be MASSIVE spoilers for the entire Dragon Age series. Proceed at your own risk.
> 
> This does occur in the same canon world as "Borders Yet to Be" (Kya Amell of Sensible Creatures) and there will be overlap as the story proceeds.
> 
> Please note the rape TW is only due to references of Varania and Fenris's past. There will be nothing that occurs during this timeline that is noncon.

 

_Varania ran._

She had no idea where she was going but she knew that she would only survive if she ran.  All she knew was  _survive._    It was the one gift of slavery perhaps, that continuing to live was the only motivation she ever knew, until she nearly destroyed herself.

That was what she'd done, dreaming of something other than servitude and being seduced by Danarius's sweet words.

_I'll make you my apprentice.  You will be a force of nature as all mages deserve to be.  You only need help me return your brother to the safety of the Empire.  Without his memories...you know how he was my dear.  He was a child with a sword.  Without guidance? Who can say what wildness he's gotten himself into.  But you, you he will still remember.  You share blood; you shared a womb.  He is the other half of you and you should be together._

Varania ran.  

She ran from the look of horror, of blind hatred on Leto's face.  She ran from the tall woman who looked at him with love and stopped him from killing her.  She knew nothing else but that Danarius was a liar and Leto... _Fenris_...was safe and she was a horrible excuse for a sister.

She was too terrified to be angry anymore but she had been angry at him for years for what he'd done.  She could never understand how Leto could have shared blood with her, been born only minutes after she was yet know nothing of her life.  It was different she knew, since she was female and it was gauche for the Master to trouble his female slaves as to not take the chance of sullying his bloodline.  She was treated well, if not loved.  But poor beautiful Leto was the Master's favorite even before the lyrium brands turned his red hair white and she knew it broke him more and more every day.  Perhaps by setting her and their mother free, he thought he'd find a modicum of freedom, even as Danarius continued to use him.  

But freedom wasn't beautiful for elves in Tevinter.  It was an abyss of near starvation and indentured servitude more abusive than she'd ever experienced as a slave.  She didn't belong to anyone so she had almost no value.  When their mother died she was burned with the trash. 

That's what  _free_  meant.  It meant without worth.

Where could she go, now that Danarius was dead with his blood on Le.. _Fenris's_  hands?  Where could she go now that she'd broken the unbreakable bond of their shared blood?  She couldn't go back to Tevinter; she didn't know how to live on her own and she had only the most rudimentary understanding of her magic.  

Varania ran.  

She ran until her lungs were burning and the city gates were far behind her and she ran until she hit the shore of the Waking Sea where she collapsed on to the rocky sand numb, breathless and wishing she was dead.  The cold salty water soaked into her skirts.   _Survive._  Her very soul screamed it at her, by her heart felt shattered like a mirror smashed against the ground.  Her chest burned.  Her bones ached.

Varania wept.

If it hadn't been for the hunters, an old man and his grandson, the elder with faded spiral horns tattooed on his face and the young with lines and dots so recent that his skin was still swollen.  They carried a basket of fish and instead of gathering driftwood, they found a broken ex-slave and brought her home like an abandoned kitten.

Keeper Istimaethorial Lavellan comforted her.  Heard her story to every gruesome detail and instead of turning her away, made Varania her second and began to teach her how to live. They made vallaslin out of her own blood and crystal grace and tattooed graceful branches on Varania's throat that looked like the ones that burned under the tan skin of her brother's neck.  It hurt and she bled and she had no regrets.

The Dalish were proud and broken and so very sad.  They felt like home and for a while Varania began to understand what freedom felt like and maybe this was why Fenris fought so hard to keep it. She understood him now, in a way she never had before.  Only her tears ran then.  In time, the tears became fond memories of stolen moments of childhood.  In a year, Varania felt Dalish, not Tevinter.  She was a person, not a slave.  

Then the war began.  They felt the explosion at Kirkwall through the Fade, the Keeper, her First and Varania.  They felt people die.  And then they were mages first and elves second and it was terrible all over again.

Varania ran and Clan Lavellan ran with her.

When the conclave was announced, Varania volunteered to go.  She knew more of human ways than any of the others.  She knew how to blend in.  She knew how to hide.  After all, someone needed to learn what the shems were doing; they sent her to find out if it would ever be safe for their kind again.

_Their kind.  Mages._  

But in the days before she left, there was twittering, gossip.  One of the young ones was showing signs, having dreams and what then?  The Clan could not risk more than three mages.  Varania heard whispered arguments.  She was one of them.   _No she wasn't._  The child was eight summers old now, far longer than that  _flat ear slave_  had been with them.  

Varania ran.  

This time, she ran towards the conclave and knew that no matter what she discovered, she would never go back.  But she wasn't a helpless slave now.  If the Clan had given her nothing else, they'd made her strong.  

_Survive._   It was all she knew, and now she knew how to do it.


	2. The Key to Our Salvation

This  _thing_  on her hand.  Maker.

Varania remembered almost nothing after arriving at the conclave, carefully leaving her staff behind and happy for the paleness of her vallaslin that was easily hidden in the shadows of a hood.

She blended in with the servants with ease.  There were always servants wherever there were shems who thought they were important.  Yet, she didn't hate them, not like the Dalish did.

That she remembered.  Thinking how she wasn't Dalish.  That was quite clear.  That part of her life was over almost before it had begun.  They were no better than the magisters had been.  Once her use was less than her upkeep, there was no reason to continue to feed her, in resources or in compassion.

Varania was on her own.

She tried to remember when it was done.  She felt like there was something.  She knew there was more than she recalled; wandering about the Temple, looking for someone, hearing something, but the only thing she really remembers with real clarity is the chains.

Varania woke up in chains.  On the cold stone floor, hands shackled and she thought for a brief terrified moment that it had all been a dream and she was still a slave, and she was being punished.  When she came to her senses, realized where she was, she was even more certain she was being punished.

The Maker might have turned away from the world, but his justice was swift even so.  Varania had betrayed her own twin.  How could she not be punished?

Yes instead of execution, she became  _something_.  She couldn't hide as she hid in the magister's house.  The glow from this magic gave her away.  And being suddenly thrust into this role, being able to seal the rifts and being the  _Herald of Andraste?_  Maker, wasn't that was worst punishment yet?  They saw her as a wild Dalish elf touched by the Bride of the Maker.

_You are the key to our salvation._

Solas looked pleased by the development.  Cassandra and the other shems, less so.

Varania wanted nothing to do with it even if she did believe.  She wasn't truly Dalish though she wanted to believe as they did.  She believed in Andraste, in the Maker.  Like most in Tevinter, even slaves, were taught that Andraste was a mage.  When her own magic came, she felt a connection to the Bride that she'd never had before.  

This glowing mark on her hand didn't feel very holy.

It hurt.  Like being bitten.  The mark very distinctively felt like teeth.  She didn't understand.

She was swept along into this Inquisition business like the tide, trying so hard to play the part of the Dalish mage, the Elvhen, not the  _slave._ She felt like they could all see through her, especially  _him._   With those grey eyes he looked right through her and just  _saw._

_Solas._  She'd learned just enough of the old language in her time with the Clan that she knew it meant  _Pride._

But he didn't know who she truly was because he took out his frustration at the Dalish on her.  She didn't mind so much because that meant he was talking to her which was suddenly very  important.  He was the first free man who'd looked at her like someone who was equally as free.  The first mage except for Keeper Istimaethorial who wasn't a tormentor or a rival.  

Varania was drawn to him and it scared her, but then he'd smile at her and she'd forget to be frightened.  Carefully, so careful; a smile just for her and as if he was looking for something familiar in her face. She smiled back and said things she hoped he'd like to hear and ate up his approval hungrily.

The mark on her hand burned and screamed when she closed the rifts.  Her body ached as she fought demons.  She tried to sleep and when she did, she saw snippets of green fire and grey eyes and crackling fire.  The Fade was treacherous and she wished someone would teach her how to navigate it.

She asked Solas about the Fade.  He only smiled like a cat.

Varania took him to Redcliffe to meet the mages.  She told herself it was because he too was a mage.  She told herself it was because of his calm wisdom (which he had but it was mixed with much critical disdain).  She told herself any number of convenient almost-truths, but just didn't want to be parted from his reassuring presence.

When everything went wrong (and when didn't everything go wrong?) and she dug Solas out of that cage in the future, she promised herself that she would do better.  She would do better by them all, even that tall shem Tevinter she  _recognized._

Thankfully, Danarius's guest rarely saw the servants.  Not in any real way.  They were part of the furniture, truly.  But she remembered him.  Dorian, son of House Pavus.  She remembered his bold interest in Leto, and that was before the Lyrium burned away all his soft edges.  She could only imagine what would have happened when he became the hard, finely crafted thing who tried to murder her.  

This one would have eaten that right up, she suspected.

Varania tried not to think about it.  She tried not to think about her brother at all. It was best for both of them.

Instead she turned her attention back towards the breach.  Now that there was power to spare and mages at her back, she couldn't avoid it any longer.

_You are the key to our salvation._   Solas's voice echoed in her head.  She began to notice that he was handsome, even through the smoke and the blood and the demons.

Above all the others, she felt his magic, odd and ancient, roiling through her along with the power of the rebels, feeding the mark until even the breach in all it's horror could not stand against her.

"The heavens are scarred, but calm," Solas told them.  

Varania believed him.  It sounded like something he knew much about.


	3. Wake Up

 

Haven was buried under a mountain of snow, the remains of the Temple lost to the might of nature.  Yet most of the people survived.  

Even Varania.

The Inquisition sang.  They made her their leader and Varania was both proud and mortified.  How this happened, she simply couldn't understand.  Clan Lavellan sent her to the conclave to  _dispose_  of her.  Her value among free people was hardly more than it had been as a slave.  Yet, instead of death she found people who wanted to follow her.  

Once, Varania dreamt of becoming a magister and tried to sell her brother and her soul to get it. Now, a fine man told her to embrace the divinity they were putting upon her.  

Solas lit Veilfire in the mountains and told her he knew a way to make them love her.  He told her there was a place, an ancient place where she could lead her people to victory. 

_Her people._   Not elves.  Not slaves.  Not even mages.  Just people.   _The Inquisition._

Solas took her to the Fade to tell her a story. Varania hadn't told him  _her_  story yet, but she knew she must.  

Hawke was here, at this new keep in the sky and she recognized Varania immediately.   Yet Hawke knew Leto in the way only a lover could.  She knew his blindness.  She forgave Varania, even if Fenris hadn't yet.

Varric stood fast when Hawke recognized her.  Hawke shouted at him for not telling her, for catching her off guard.  She said she hated it when he did that.  

He only shrugged.

"You knew all along," Varania realized.  She thought he'd forgotten her.  Didn't recognize her face under its decoration of vallaslin and her cut hair.  "Why didn't you say anything?" The questions needed to be asked.  "Why didn't you tell them you knew I was just a slave?"

"You aren't a slave any more.  Fenris saw to that."  Varania cringed.  He  _had_  and it was what almost destroyed them both.  "Besides," Varric was nonchalant, "You didn't want to be recognized."  He shrugged again.  "You fucked up and you know it.  You fucked up but you're something else now, someone different.  People can change.  Besides, I know your brother and I know he doesn't always think things through.  Whatever really happened probably isn't as simple as he thought it was.  Life is never black and white and right and wrong."  Varric's chuckle was uncertain, as if he wasn't sure how this story was going to be written yet.  "You don't have the market cornered on fucking up, you know."

She told Dorian first because once Varania asked him his opinion about slavery.

  _I don't know what it's like to be a slave and I suspect you don't either._   It was the best he could do.  He'd never really thought about it before.  But Dorian was wrong about that.  Varania knew  _exactly_  what it was like.  

He was utterly flabbergasted and then sad.  He tried to apologize and she stopped him.

She liked it, as much as another could like being a possession.  It was just as he suspected, because it was all she ever knew.  For a long time, she preferred slavery to being free.  She told him the truth, the real truth of how she tried to return herself to servitude of a different sort.  She told him how she betrayed her brother to Danarius.

"He betrayed  _you;_  Danarius did with his pretty lies of how your life would be better," Dorian said.  His voice was crystal.  A blade. "I will never...I don't."  He stumbled; chipped the blade.  "I don't know there's anything  _I_  can do." 

"Just," Varania looked at the floor.  "Just don't look at me like I'm a slave, even though I am."

" _You're not a slave._ " His Tevinter accent helped her believe it.

She told her advisors.  Only Cullen couldn't hide his shock.  Leliana shook her head.   _This changes nothing.  You are still you._ She left it to Josephine to tell the rest of them and decide if the Inquisition as a whole should know the truth.  It wasn't a decision she could make on her own.

She went to tell Solas.  He was sure to hate her.  Nothing irked him more than servitude.

Before she could speak, he asked her to join him elsewhere.  She simply accepted that they'd returned to Haven, uncrushed under the mountain.  Her mind just allowed it and she walked with him, the gentle snow flakes lighting on her eyelashes and melting on the warm skin on his head.   Varania smiled and unconsciously brushed a snowflake from Solas's face.

He blushed.  He actually  _blushed_  when she touched him.

Her ears burned. 

_And then the whole world changed._ His voice hitched.  Varania's mouth curved.

"Sweet talker."  She forgot everything she planned to tell him.  

She kissed him.  Instead of telling him the truth and making him hate her she tasted his lips, warm and soft and closed her eyes to revel in it.  She pulled away, suddenly shy.  Solas looked amused, a myriad of expression crossing his face before he pulled her back kissed her in return.  He wasn't so tentative as she was.  He was firm and confident and he parted her lips with his and she forgot how to breathe.

She felt his kiss like the lightning she cast, electric through her whole body.  He smelled like the west wind; he smelled like grass, he smelled like leather and the faintest hint of the musk of fur. Her fingers clutched at the stiff ribs of his sweater, marveled at the surprising warmth of the body underneath.  

People think elves are collected and cool.  But it's a lie.  They run hot.

"This isn't right, not even here," Solas said struggling with his own mouth, pulling away.  That was what she expected, pulling away, retreat back behind the impenetrable mystery of his eyes.  But even as he moved away, the invisible current of electricity still crackled between their bodies.  

She wondered if somehow, he knew.  If he could taste slavery in her mouth.  

"I'm sorry, I'm not what...wait."  She looked up at him.  "What do you mean, not even here?"

"Where did you think we were?"  His eyes glittered knowingly.

Varania was legitimately surprised; it was hardly her first trip to...

"The Fade," she realized aloud.  "This isn't real."

"That's a matter of debate," he replied, cryptic as ever.

Varania looked at the ground, seeing it for what it was, just a figment of her will and his.  She looked up and him again.  In the Fade, he was certainly more powerful than she, hardly cutting her teeth on the newness of truly wielding her magic.  

But he kissed her, even so.  It wasn't she who willed it to happen, no matter how she desired it.

" _Solas_ ," she said his name as hardly more than a sigh.  "There's something I need to tell you. I'm not..."  He put his finger over her lips.

"It's easier here," he said, "But even I have to concede that important things are best discussed after you...."  He paused.  Smiled, feral.  "Wake up."

Varania sat up with the jolt, alone in her quarters.  But she swore she could still feel his touch, smell him there though she'd never been anything other than alone in this room.  

" _Solas,_ " she said his name into the silence.  "I was a slave."  She swallowed.  "I wanted to be a magister so I didn't have to be a slave anymore."  Her lip trembled.  "I tried to give the most horrible abusive man I've even known my  _brother_  as a gift so I didn't have to be hungry anymore."

No one heard her.  


	4. To Sleep

The Elder One.  That's what he called himself.

It was ironic perhaps that she was who she was, and he was what he was.   _Elven slave; Tevinter Magister._ It pleased her into the depths of her soul when she thwarted him and not only because it was the right thing to do.  She finally beat one of those smug bastards.

She did find it odd that she didn't count Dorian among them even though he was actually  _there_  while she was still someone's property instead of being what she was now.  And sometimes he seemed to forget that she was an elf; that Solas was.  He'd say something immensely stupid and realize it too late.

Maybe it was different because he was trying.  He didn't want to be that.  Corypheus wanted to be a god, whatever that meant.

Solas told her something cryptic about "a true god never needing to prove himself" but she wasn't sure she understood it.  All she truly understood was that despite her standing tall and being strong, she was so tired and she just wanted the past to disappear.

The only time she felt like the world made sense was when she listened to Solas's stories about the Fade.  They were old memories, or so he said, the powerful ones that stuck through the centuries, held dear by spirits dreaming of being mortal.  If only they understood how dirty and broken mortality was, perhaps they wouldn't want it so much.

"Why do spirits want to enter the living world?" she asked him once, talking late into the night when candles burned low.  He'd told her a sweet, romantic tale about a spirit who directed young lovers into each other's arms as her head lolled back against the wall, legs curled up under her on the couch in the rotunda.  Solas sat beside her, his fingers still stained with paint and plaster.

"Because spirits are the embodiment of mortal emotions.  Without mortals, they would not be.  And there is no desire more ingrained into the living than the desire to keep doing so."  He cocked his head at her.  "Have you never wondered why the ancient elves chose to sleep when the worries of the world overwhelmed them, instead of choosing to die?  Survival and continuance is the most powerful urge of the living. Spirits reflect this."

"Isn't death better sometimes?" she asked, remembering all those times that the desire to  _survive_  was almost overcome by the desire to be free, no matter what that meant.

"I don't know," he said, his voice taking on a strange, far away sound.  "I've never tried it."

Varania rolled her eyes at him.  "I didn't think you had.  And despite what the rumors say, I didn't die and come back either." She shrugged.  "They say when you die, your soul goes to the Maker through the Fade.  Have you never seen the spirit of a living being in all your journeys there?"

"Perhaps," he said, "But I don't know that I would have known such a spirit from any other others.  I don't have any special wisdom when it comes to death.  All I know is the pain of loss."  He looked so forlorn, so lost when he said those words.  It took everything Varania had to resist holding him.

But he'd asked her to give him time.  He was  _hesitant_  after what happened between them in the Fade.  She understood, and she herself was hesitating still telling him who she was.

_For the good of the Inquisition, we feel it is best that this knowledge stay only with your closest companions, should you choose to tell them.  The soldiers, the agents, they may not understand.  It is not so much that you were a slave, but that you are from Tevinter.  Look at the difficulty Dorian has faced, even with your support.  We fear there will be dissent._

And that was that.  No one was to know and she would keep living the lie unless she chose to stop.  It terrified her to tell Solas who she was.  She'd come to have such feelings for him...would he only turn away when he knew the truth of who she really was?  Would she even be able to blame him?

"You look tired, lethallan," he said, interrupting her musing.  "Are you well or have I talked too long?"

Varania shook her head.  "No, I...haven't slept since we returned from Crestwood."  She couldn't even tell him why.

_Hawke is my brother's lover and all I can think about is how I wronged him and how he's alone without his love because she's here risking her life to help me! And that heartbroken Grey Warden with the cold blue eyes and all those horrible tales of blood magic. Varania knew of the price of blood magic and **Maker**._

She wrapped her pain around herself tightly.

"Let me help you," Solas said, one warm hand on her arm.  "I know...," he grinned.  "Much about sleeping.  I can help you find your way.  You need rest, da'len."

"Ma serannas Solas," she said quickly, realizing the for the first time the phrases of elven were working their way into her speech without forcing them, in a way they never had among the Dalish.  "But I don't know that I could."

"You can."  His confidence was clearly greater than hers.  "Come with me."  He offered his hand.  She couldn't resist taking it.  His fingers entwined with hers.  He lead her into the hall, only a few souls still awake at this hour and none bothering to note their passage.  

"Are you going to tuck me in, hahren?"

Solas laughed.  "Yes."


	5. Perchance to Dream

 

"Just close your eyes lethallan."  He settled down on the bed beside her, lanky legs half tucked up, leaning casually on his elbow.  It was strange having him so close yet knowing she should not touch him.  He hadn't given her permission yet.  It was certainly not what her brain had originally imagined if she ever gotten him into her bed but she kept her hands carefully to herself.

Varania complied, though it felt strange, Solas so close to her, yet thinking apparently that she shouldn't be distracted.  She felt him shift in the bed with the slight movement of the soft mattress under her before he spoke again.

"Now, just relax.  Start with the top of your head.  Feel all the muscles relax."

Instead of relaxing, Varania peeked an eye open.  He laid beside her with a one of those tiny half smiles on his lips.  She almost wished the big four poster bed was just a little bit smaller for an instant, but then thought better of it.  He wasn't here so she have inappropriate urges.  If they'd just been dirty thoughts, physical ones, they would have been easy to push away.  Instead, she just wanted to be  _closer to him_  whatever that decided to mean.

He seemed to sense her looking at him and he opened his eyes.  His smile widened.  He shook his head.

"Da'len," he chastised her.  "You won't be able to sleep if you have your eyes open."

Varania sighed.  "I'm not a child, you know."  She tried to read his expression as a response to that but it was enigmatic.  "Ir abelas," she quickly amended, thinking she saw a bit of disappointment in his eyes.  "I don't have any manners when I'm tired."

"No, you are right," he admitted.  "I should not try to put distance between us by calling you such."  This time his expression was more readable, but still complex. Sadness, hesitation and  _something._   "For now," he paused and then explained.  "If I help you with this, I will sleep as well.  If my presence is distracting...."

"No," she replied, too quickly. "I mean, yes, you are distracting, but I don't want you to go.  I will try harder to listen."

He grinned at that, clearly pleased but only nodding in reply before he closed his eyes again.  Varania followed suit, taking a deep breath to calm herself.  Solas cleared his throat.

"Now, again, focus your attention on the top of your head. Next, your forehead, your cheeks and at the same time down the back of your head to the crux of your neck." He began to speak, listing off one body part after another.  Varania carefully complied this time, allowing the tension in her muscles to melt away.  She hadn't realized how much strain there was until it was gone.  

She slipped into sleep without even realizing it and for a long time, floated in a restful dreamlessness.  Her body soaked up the calm and the rest, direly needing it.  Crestwood had been a horror; all those bodies, all that death.  But none of that troubled her for the moment, sunk under a warm dark blanket that deep sleep,  _beneath the Fade_  she thought of it.  It wasn't until her mind started to emerge again that she truly entered the Fade itself.

She found herself on the streets of Minrathous, the cobblestones of this ancient street damp with humidity and glossy in the fading light of evening.  The street was silent though and Minrathous was never quiet, always a bustle of people and animals and smells.  In the distance she heard someone call her name. She spun, saw a flash of red hair.   _Leto._  He had that look, that one before he was about to do something stupid and then he started to change, the color fading from his hair, the glow of those blue white lyrium brands starting to glow through the darkness of his skin.  But before his transformation was complete, before he spoke again, a voice cut through the dream, yanking her out of the Fade like a parental hand on her collar.

She sat up as if someone pulled her.

The voice; it was Solas, but he wasn't awake.  He thrashed, his face contorted with pain, anger.  His eyes darted wildly behind closed lids.

"No, no no no," he muttered, the sharp tone of that single word clearly what had grasped her from sleep.  Varania wasn't sure what to do.  The Fade could be perilous for any mage, and Solas traveled further than most.  There were so many dangers, so many things that could go wrong if she woke him and he wasn't ready.  

Steeling herself, she reached out a hand and put it on the side of face.  Instead of pulling away or even ignoring her, he suddenly relaxed into her touch.  His hand came up over hers.

"Thank you," he muttered before even opening his eyes.  Slowly, they opened and they were reddened and damp as if he'd shed tears though there were none on his face.  "I did not need hear any more of that."  Solas took a deep breath and squeezed her hand again before he sat up, tucking his legs under him.  Varania let her hand fall back into her lap.  

"What happened?" She wondered what in the Fade might actually spook him.

"I need your help, lethallan," he asked, his voice grave.  "My friend has been captured by mages -- I heard the call for help in my dreams."

"Anything you need from me is yours," she said probably more openly than she should have.  She pressed on despite how much that sounded like a confession. "How did they trap your friend? Blood magic?"

Solas shook his head, perhaps to gracious or instead still too distracted to notice her nearly blatant admission.  "A summoning circle, I assume."

"Your friend is a...."

"A spirit, yes.  Of Wisdom in fact, and it has been pulled through the Veil against it's will."  He pursed his lips, his eyes still having the far away look.  "I saw the Exalted Plains.  I'm sure that's what they have trapped it."

"Why would they do that?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted.  His tone was fierce despite his calm words.  "Likely for knowledge they were not meant to have, or for power or any number of foolish reasons."

Varania nodded.  In Tevinter, magisters used summoned spirits all the time.  As servants, as helpers, for knowledge and for power.  They tried not to go against the purpose of the spirit and corrupt it, unless that was their original goal, and even then it was easier to just bind a demon instead. She couldn't comment how much she actually knew of this, not until Solas knew the truth and now certainly wasn't the time to add more difficultly to his life.  She could tell by the look on his face that he was already more than stricken enough.

"We'll go as soon as possible.  I think we already have scouts there, and if we don't I'll send some ahead as soon as I'm able."  Varania's voice took on a note of command; it reminded her of the trapped spirit in Old Crestwood.  It wasn't so bad, having power, however it was that she came about it.  She understood more now how the magisters became so addicted to it.  

"Thank you," Solas said.  His eyes were softer now.  He cocked his head when he looked at her, as he often did.  "I...thank you."

"I haven't done anything yet," Varania said, trying to smile but knowing it was hollow.  She looked at him for just a little longer, allowing herself to drink in his presence.  Though she knew in her heart that she wanted more from him than merely his friendship, even that was worth reveling in.  Especially if it might be all he could offer.  Breaking eye contact, she swung her legs over the far side of the bed as if to get up, but she paused, sitting on the edge and looking at her hands. 

"You are my friend, lethallin," she said softly.  "I would do anything for you."

Solas made a sound as if to reply, but Varania got to her feet and that cut him off.  She looked back at him over her shoulder.  "I haven't had many friends before.  I hope I'm doing this right."

Solas looked skeptical.  "You have such a kind heart, it seems unlikely you would have not had friends in your clan."

Varania shrugged, trying to push it off, as if it wasn't so much more complicated than that.  

"Things aren't always what they seem to be."  

"That," Solas replied with a little snort, "is true."


	6. The World and Men

Varania wasn't sure what was worse; the corruption of the spirit itself, Cole's immediate fear or Solas's anguish when it was done.  The peace the spirit felt seemed to negate its own pain, even if that meant its sentience was gone.  And Cole seemed to follow suit, seeing that in death the spirit returned to what it was meant to be.  After all, that was what worried him more than anything -- the loss of who he was.

She didn't blame him, not now that she was finally discovering who that person was in herself.

But that release did not seem to comfort Solas.  He ended the lives of those mages so coldly it actually shocked Varania, despite how much death she herself had dealt.  She questioned herself. Maybe she should have stopped him?  Their deaths did not seem to bring him any closure.

He'd looked at her with such affection when she offered her condolences and still seemed surprised that she would understand his friendship with a spirit.  To her, it hadn't seemed extraordinary -- a friend was a friend no matter what form they took.  Solas thanked her, thanked them all for their help in releasing the spirit, but then disappeared into the wilds on his own.  Varania thought he'd be a few hours behind them on their return to Skyhold, but she was wrong.

_Three days._

It was a very long time to wander and to wonder after his safety.  A part of her wanted to go after him.  What if he was hurt?  Dead?  But she knew that was foolishness and more than a little overprotective.  Solas was a man after all, and though he hadn't admitted to his age, he was clearly older than her thirty years.  He'd lived for a very long time on his own and frankly, without her and her mark to attract the attention of demons and Corypheus's forces, chances are he was safer on his own than he ever was with her.  

She was afraid that he'd realized that and was never going to return.

Just generally doing without his comforting presence was awful enough all by itself without imagining that he might not come back.  She'd finally started to wrap her head around how she felt about him and to accept that she actually felt something for anyone.  For so much of her life, she'd not allowed herself to even have likes or dislikes.  Varania didn't even allow herself the affection of friendship.  Anything more was simply out of the question.  

When she came to the Dalish she couldn't even tell them what she liked to eat.  She liked what her Master gave her or there were consequences.  Getting to choose what she wanted was foreign.  But once she let herself decide for herself, her preferences came in a rush.  She liked Ferelden cheese and tea from Antiva and she really hated beets.  Those frilly Orlesian pastries were delicious and so was cocoa from Par Vollen.  She did not find human men particularly appealing, though Cullen had pretty hair and Loghain had beautiful eyes.  

When she kissed Solas in the Fade it wasn't just a kiss.   _It was more,_  at least for her part.  Even if he didn't feel the same, she wanted to tell him.  And then, she needed to tell him who she was.

He deserved no more lies.  She deserved no more lies.  She was what the Maker and the world had made her.  Solas would either accept her as she was or not at all.  If he did not accept her, no matter how she felt, there was nothing more to say.  

None of that mattered if he never returned.

These thoughts came a little too easy in the dark on the night, alone in her bed.  She couldn't sleep, fearing what the Fade might show her and worried she couldn't tell the difference between what was true and what was a lie.  Instead, Varania made her way down to the kitchens, where she found a lone servant mixing dough and making bread, looking bleary and exhausted.  It had taken some convincing, but she'd excused him to bed and took on the task herself.  Mage or not, when there were banquets, parties, festivals, all the slaves in Danarius's house had to help prepare.  Even if he had her sorting books once she learned to read the majority of the time, Varania was quite proficient at kneading dough.  And it was calming, safe and familiar.

The Inquisitor kneaded the dough and shaped it into loaves to rise again, softly whistling to herself a Tevinter lullaby deep in the dark of the night.  She didn't realize she wasn't alone until she finished the tune and rich man's voice chimed in.

"That's a beautiful song, though very sad," Loghain said.  Varania looked up to find him in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame.  He nodded in greeting.  "I'm sorry to disturb you Inquisitor, but Wardens have quite the appetites.  I thought to find something to eat."  He looked amused.  "I did not expect to find anyone at this hour and certainly didn't expect to find you making the bread. Do you do everything yourself?" His face tried to smile, but there was too much sadness in his eyes for it to be truly a smile.  There was an undercurrent of sadness in everything he did.  It was impossible to miss.

"Thankfully for everyone, I'm usually too busy to be in the kitchen.  I am good at bread though, after all I have a lot of prac...," she stopped mid word and looked up at him.  "Wait, you don't know, do you?"

Loghain uncrossed his legs and came into the room with only a few strides of his long legs.  Human men seemed impossibly tall.  He certainly had the potential to be intimidating, but he slouched a little, she assumed under the weight of all the madness of the Wardens. "Know what?"

Varania made a little noncommittal noise.  She wasn't sure how to feel when she told people about her past.  Telling this Warden, whoever he used to be, was probably safe enough.  He wasn't really in any position to judge her.  She only knew a bit of his story, gleaned from Varric.  She might have been literate, but slaves didn't get to learn anything that didn't benefit their master.  Ferelden history wasn't a very useful subject in Minrathous.

"Have you met Hawke's lover, Fenris?" she asked by way of a reply.  Loghain shook his head.

"No, he was not with her, though she does speak of him fondly and often," Loghain explained.  "I assume that somehow relates to what I do not know?" He smiled again, that sad half smile.  

"Fenris is my brother," Varania said without ceremony.  "He and I were once slaves.  In Tevinter." She shrugged, hoping to prevent the obligatory sympathy.  "And this," she gestured to the bread dough.  "This is familiar.  That is all."

Loghain nodded again.  He didn't immediately apologize, as if his entire race somehow needed to feel badly for the actions of Tevinter and she was grateful for that.  She was so tired of hearing it.

"That seems logical, and I do understand more than you likely expect.  Though I usually am drawn towards splitting wood myself.  No one wants to see me try to cook anything that isn't meat," he said, chuckling a little.  He reached into the barrel next to the table and pulled out an apple without any elaboration.  He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully.  Varania went back to kneading and for a while they were silent.

"Is there a reason this is a secret?" he asked.  "I was told you were Dalish. And you do have the tattoos."

Varania shrugged.  "I am Dalish," she said.  "Or I was for a while.  I lived with the Lavellan clan for more than a year.  They took me in and made me one of their own, after a fashion.  I  _am_  of the Lavellan clan or I was when I left it, so it is a truth. It's just not the whole truth." She sighed.  "It’s hard enough for some of them that I'm an elf.  It would be harder if I was a slave.  And even worse if I was Tevinter.   But that is what I am.  I was a slave to a magister and he taught me to read and he nurtured the beginning of my magic."  She took the dough she was kneading and shaped it into a careful loaf, placing it on the pan next to the others.  "It wouldn't make me very popular."

"Being popular is a double edged sword," Loghain said.  "Though I understand why you wouldn't tell them.  There are times I wished being a Warden could provide me with the same anonymity it gives others."

"I suppose in Ferelden and Orlais you would be well known.  To be honest, I hadn't heard of you in Tevinter, but slaves aren't given much education.  Varric told me a little of your story, about the Blight and Ostagar.  Solas," she cringed a little when she said his name, "He said that the spirits of the Fade remember you as both a hero and a villain."  She gave him a look.  "I'm sure only you know the truth.  I know how wrong the stories people tell often are. Tevinter, the Dalish.  It's as if they had a competition to see who could misunderstand the most."

Loghain laughed bitterly.  "The Wardens are no better though I doubt that's a comfort.  Sometimes I've gotten the impression people prefer ignorance to the truth.  I know I have in the past.  The truth is often not comforting."

"So I've discovered."

There was a moment of silence then, a bit awkward.  Loghain cleared his throat.

"I do apologize for disturbing you Inquisitor," he said. He made as if to leave.  Awkward or no, she didn't like the solitude that loomed if he left.

"You aren't disturbing me," she said, trying to keep his company.  "I was disturbed long before you came in.  I'm glad for the company, to be honest. I almost want to ask you to stay."

Loghain raised an eyebrow. "I suppose at this hour, your options for companionship are limited, so I can't fault your taste."

She laughed. "I don't know you well enough to decide if you are overly hard on yourself or too honest."

"A bit of both, in all likelihood, but after all these years as a Warden, I have gotten good at late night conversations held in confidence. We Wardens do love our secrets.  So what can this old man do to help you pass the time?"  He didn't seem put out by her request, only amused.  He was humoring her, but that was better than being alone.

"I don't know," Varania admitted.  "I just don't like the idea of more quiet."

"That quiet always leads to thinking, which can be a mixed blessing in a position as you are in," he said, sounding as if it was something he understood.  "I must say, I was pleased to discover that you are both an elf and a mage.  The world needs to see more of both of those in positions of power."

Varania smiled unexpectedly.  "I'm surprised to hear that.  Most people are a bit put off by the combination."

"When this is done, when the immediate threat is defeated, you should tell them where you come from," he said.  He looked a bit green for a moment, as if he was remembering something nauseating. "Though I have not always lived to my own standards and I have made some unforgivable mistakes regarding your people, I've always believed that elves were the equal of any man.  And in time I came feel the same of mages.  It doesn't surprise me that the three most famous heroes of this age have all been mages."  He chuckled.  "And women.  It's about time."

"You surprise me again."

"Do I?" he chuckled again.  "I suppose I surprise myself sometimes.  Though I had to get quite old before I had any sense at all." He sighed at that.  "I also wanted to compliment you on your inner circle, though as I know, that's often more a matter of fate than intent.  It is good to see such a mix of people.  It gives you more perspective.  Elves, Dwarves, a Qunari even.  It is wiser than it might appear. It is a mistake to let your view become too narrow.  An error I only learned in disaster."

"They are quite the group," she admitted.  "I wish I could take credit for it, but it’s been just dumb luck."

"I did however notice you seem short one elf the last few days," Loghain commented.  

"How did you know?" She looked up at him in surprise.  So many details escaped her.  It's why she needed all those advisors.  She'd be lost without them.

"It’s the soldier in me, I suppose," Loghain explained.  "I notice routines, guard rotations. Every morning the boy with the big hat, the odd one, would walk with the elf, Solas I believe you called him, through the courtyard speaking with and comforting the wounded.  The boy has been alone the last two days and he seems a bit lost on his own."

"Yes, Solas is...missing.  We, tried to help his  _friend_ ," she began, but chose to not elaborate on what type of friend.  She wasn't in the mood for that inevitable discussion. "We were too late to do anything but comfort the dying.  He went to mourn his friend and hasn't returned."  She paused and struggled with herself.  "I don't know that he will. He will be missed if he doesn't return."

Loghain gave her a knowing look.  "He'll be back, though he'll wonder at his motivation."

She was skeptical.  "How could you know that?"

"I saw how he looked at you, when you came to find me at Crestwood," Loghain said.  That sadness was back in his eyes.  "The look of a man who wants something he shouldn't have."

Varania shook her head.  "Shouldn't have?"

"So he thinks," Loghain said.  "I've worn the same expression enough times to recognize it."  Varania made to reply but Loghain held up his hand to stop her.  "Whatever you think yourself, it is what he thinks.  But he'll be back, even so. Trust me."

"I hope you're right."

Loghain took the last bite of the apple and chewed thoughtfully.  He swallowed.  "I am not right all that often, but I am this time. Just give him some time.  He's very broken.  I recognize that as well."

Varania couldn't even reply.  She just looked down at her hands.  She'd almost forgotten in her own distress that Solas had feelings of his own that were not all about her.  She felt a sudden wave of guilt for being so selfish.

Loghain seemed to sense the shift in her mood.  "Good night Inquisitor," he said, making his way to the door.  "The world and men run on their own time.  You'll have to forgive us when we are foolish and hesitant."  It was an odd declaration, but he said nothing else, just paused at the door for a moment.  He almost seemed that he wanted to say something more, but thought better of it at the end, leaving without another word.

"Good night, Warden Loghain," Varania said to his back.  She wasn't even sure if he heard her, sudden solitude washing over her.

"I hope you're right," she repeated to the silence.  Like before, no one heard her.


	7. Ma Nuvenin

The cook kicked Varania out of the kitchen at dawn.

Bleary eyed, she blinked at the sunlight.  Her eyes watered and she wiped at her face with her hands.  She knew she should have tried to sleep, listened to what Loghain had to say, gotten drunk, anything other than spending the entire night skulking around with a hot ache in the center of her chest.

She'd come to a conclusion at least.  She  _loved_  Solas.  It didn't matter that she knew hardly anything about him or that he didn't yet know her darkest secret.  It didn't matter if he felt the same.  And as much as it would hurt, it didn't even matter if he decided not to return.

_She loved him_  and nothing was going to change it.

It felt good to finally admit it.  Varania tried to blame it on slavery, as her mind worked it over.  Slaves didn't fall in love.  How could she even know what it was? But that was a lie.  She always knew what love was.  It came in degrees and flavors, but it was always the same at it's core.

Love meant wanting someone to be happy.  She knew love and she knew it just as well as someone who had always been free.  She had a family, a mother.  She loved her. She loved Fenris.  He was her brother and she did love him, but then she broke herself and forgot how.  She vowed that she'd find some way to make it up to him.

Perhaps that was something she could do.  Hawke was here while they scouted the Western Approach.  She could talk to Maire Hawke who had kind blue eyes and find out how she could fix things somehow.  Fenris might never forgive her, but she was determined to try.

She made it around the corner and halfway down the stairs to the courtyard when she saw him and all her other plans were immediately forgotten.

_Solas._

He walked through the gate into the yard, his normal graceful gait still heavy with grief.  Varania could almost feel the pain rolling off of him, even from here.  It took all her composure to not rush down the stairs to try to console him.  She'd only touched him outside the Fade once, unless he'd touched her first.  She wondered too often what it would be like to know that comfort, that easy consent to just put the tips of her fingers on his face or the palm of her hand in the hollow of his back.  She ached to touch him and to give him whatever succor she could. Instead, she let her nails bite into her palm and swallowed before taking the last few steps to the bottom of the stairs.

He noticed her only when she spoke, his head tipping up to meet her eyes..  "You came back." She wondered if it sounded as desperate to him as it did to her.

"Inquisitor."  His voice was a little low, a little clipped.

"How are you?" She folded her hands behind her back to keep them under her control.

"It hurts," he said, looking back down for a moment.  He took a breath and met her eyes again.  "It always does. But I will survive."

The pain when he spoke made her heart sink. "I'm so sorry."

"You did everything you could, you were a ... a true friend.  I am sorry if I gave you cause to think I would not return."

"I was only worried about you," she said and this time her hand moved without her even considering it.  She realized she'd actually taken his hand in hers before she could stop herself.  He let her.  He didn't move away.  "If you have cause to mourn again, you don't have to be alone."

"Thank you," he said, looking down at their intertwined hands.  He squeezed gently.  "It's been so long since I could trust someone."

"I know."  And she did know.  She knew how it felt to be afraid to trust.  She couldn't trust herself at times, but he could trust her.  She would kill herself to prove it.

Solas made a sound almost like a sigh and looked up at her again.  "I will work on it."  He managed a ghost of a smile and it was the most beautiful thing.  It lasted only a few heartbeats before he frowned at her again.  "You haven't slept."

Varania pursed her lips.  "I had a rough night."

Solas looked sheepish.  "I'd ask you to tell me that it was not of my doing, but I fear you would not answer correctly."

She shrugged.  "I was worried.  I...."  She shook her head.  "Don't blame yourself for my inadequacies."

He squeezed her hand again, almost a little too hard.  "Please, you need rest. I will seek you out after you have rested, if you promise to sleep.  I...," he took a half step forward and took her other hand, putting them both between his. He lifted their hands between then and looked for moment as if he was going to kiss her fingertips but thought better of it.  He gave them another squeeze, gentle this time. "I do have things I would like to discuss with you.  But first, find some rest in the Fade."

Varania apparently looked more skeptical than she realized, considering his expression.

"Please.  For me," he asked.

"For you," she sighed, "For you, I will."   _For you, anything._

He let her hands go.  "Dareth Shiral, Inquisitor." Formal again, but some of the dark shade behind his eyes seemed lessened.  It made it easier and harder to breathe, all at once.  "I will find you later."

"Yes, I'd like that," she admitted.  "Dareth Shiral, lethallin."

The part she didn't say this time;  _Ma bora'din._    _Ma nuvenin, Solas._

 

* * *

 

She slept, collapsing fully clothed into a little ball in her bed.  Just knowing Solas was alive, unbroken, in one piece; that would have been enough to set her mind at ease.  But he was also  _here_  and as safe as that could mean, considering the state of the world.  Sleep came easier than she expected.  

She also owed Loghain a drink.  He was right, after all.

Dreams were hazy and insubstantial, as they usually were.  She didn't mind.  That meant that she actually rested and even she had to admit she needed it.  She'd been on edge the entire time Solas was gone, more than she'd even realized until it was passed.  It was like slicing a dagger through a bow string.  She was spent.

The side of the bed moved, just a fraction.  It wasn't enough to startle her, only gently get her attention.  Waking always felt a bit like surfacing from a pond and taking a deep breath.  She breathed in through her nose and caught the faint scent of the wind, of sweet grass, of woodsmoke.  Varania opened her eyes.

"Welcome back, lethallan," Solas said.  It was Solas sitting down on the bed beside her that had woken her.  She smiled at him, grateful that his face was the first thing she got to see.  A girl wasn't always that lucky.  She hadn't locked the door.  She was glad.

Varania stretched a little.  "What time is it?"

"Sunset," he replied.

She sat up fast enough to make her feel a little dizzy.  "What? I slept the entire day?"

He shrugged languidly.  "I asked that no one disturb you, which was not terribly effective, however Cassandra insisted once I explained.  That  _was_  effective." He looked amused.

She shook her head at him.  "But what if something happened?"

"Things happen all the time, with or without your participation, Inquisitor..."  He noticed her grimace at the formality.  " _Varania,_ " he amended.  "And we need you well, more than we need you to do everything."

"I am well enough, I suppose," she said.  She coughed, her throat dry from entirely too much sleep.  Solas reached to the table and poured water from the pitcher there.  He handed her the glass and gestured for her to drink.  She took the cup from him, trying not to linger when her fingers brushed across his.  She swallowed and for just a moment he watched her a little too carefully before he stood and took a few steps away.  He set his hands on the railing to the stairs, his back to her.

"Can I ask you a question?" he asked, still facing away from her.  Varania swung her legs over the side of the bed.  

"Of course."

"What were you like?" he asked.  "Before the anchor?"

Her heart stopped.  "What do you mean?"

"Has it affected you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your...spirit?" His voice caught.  She wasn't entirely sure what he was asking, but this could only end with the inevitable confession of her past. She wasn't sure she was ready for this.  Her head hurt.

"The anchor...didn't change me, no.  I don't think so."  She got to her feet.  That was true.  It changed her life, but not who she was.  "Why do you ask?" She tried to sound nonchalant, even though her heart was hammering.

He turned to look at her, gesturing for her to follow him as he headed out on to the balcony.  The sky was blushed as pink as a rose.  Solas turned to her and the tips of his ears were flushed nearly the same shade.

"You have shown a wisdom I have not seen...," he paused and struggled for a word.  "Since my deepest exploration of the ancient memories of the Fade."  He spoke a little too quickly.  It made her feel uncomfortable.  "You are not what I expected."

Her hands were trembling.  "What...have I done that is so surprising?"

"You have shown a subtlety to your actions, a wisdom that goes against everything I expected.  If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours?" He looked pained.  He struggled again.  "Have I misjudged them?"

"I... _shit,"_  she cursed.  Solas raised an eyebrow.

"I wasn't expecting _that_ either."  Some of the tension dissolved, on his end at least.  

Varania felt a bit like flinging herself off the balcony to avoid this conversation.  But here it was.  There was no excuse to avoid the subject now.  She had to tell him.  She couldn't live with herself, she couldn't dare even think to herself that she loved him and not tell him the truth now.

"The Dalish didn't make me who I am," she said, swallowing hard.  "The decisions were mine."

"It is good of you to give yourself that credit, that...."  She stopped him.

"No, wait."  She put a hand up and almost touched him but thought better of it.   _Not now._  "The decisions were mine, yes.  And the Dalish didn't raise me."

Solas looked perplexed.  "I don't understand."

"I lived with the Dalish, for a time.  I earned my vallaslin; I learned some of their ways.  But my blood is not Dalish.  I'm from Tevinter."  She looked at the ground, not wanting to see his face when she said it finally.  "I am...I  _was_  a slave."

"Oh," was his only reply.  A single syllable that felt like a blade in her heart.  Silence stretched out deep and wide between them.  Varania gathered the scraps of her courage, found the well of strength she carried that allowed her to be who she'd become.  She looked up at him with wide eyes.  Solas was gazing out over the mountains, at the pastel sky.  He seemed to sense her looking and he turned back.  His expression, as usual, was unreadable.

She took another hard fought breath and told him.  She told him everything.  How Fenris fought for her freedom and how freedom was more bitter than slavery.  She told him about lyrium tattoos and escape and betrayal.  She told him how she ran.   She told him about her brief time with the Dalish and she told him about survival.  She told him about the depth of her weaknesses and how it was only then that she found strength, once everything she ever knew was snatched away by her own horrible, broken failures.

She told him everything and fell silent again with a last plea for forgiveness that she did not expect him to give her.

"I am so sorry I didn't tell you right away," she said.  "I was afraid.  At first I didn't know if I could trust you.  Once I knew I could," she shook her head, "I was even more afraid I would lose you,  _your friendship_  and I..." She didn't continue.  She loved him, but it would be wrong to tell him now.  It would be manipulation.  She wouldn't do it.

Solas would either accept who she was or he wouldn't, but she would not force him to it.

Varania expected him to walk away.  She expected him to look at her with disgust.  Instead, he  _smiled_  at her, bright as a star.  Instead of abhorrence, his face was the very picture of admiration.  

"You are...so much stronger, more than I even realized," he sounded astonished.  "You have been through so much hardship and made grave errors, and here you are striving to save the same world that has hurt you so deeply.  You see and admit your mistakes and take responsibility for them.  You struggle to right your own wrongs.  I am utterly amazed."  He sighed. Bit his lip for a split second.  "Most people act with so little understanding of the world.  But not you."

Varania was beside herself.  "What does this mean, Solas?"

"It means," his smile widened.  "It means that I have not forgotten the kiss."

She smiled like a fool.  "Even...?"

"More, now." 

_And he thought he was amazed?_  Her strength flooded back in with a tide of desire.  She took a single step closer to him, her hands still carefully folded behind her back.  "Good," was the best she could manage.

Solas looked down at her.  When they were close, he seemed so tall, though he was not even a half head taller than she was.  His eyes flicked between her eyes and her lips.  A line appeared between his eyebrows and he shook his head, turning away from her.

Her hand darted out and grabbed his elbow. "Don't go."

"It would be kinder in the long run...but losing you would...," He couldn't finish, instead she fell into his arms and just like in the Fade, he kissed her.

This time, in the fullness of the mortal world, she felt his heartbeat against her, the fine texture of his skin, the sweet taste of his breath.  Her hands were on his waist, his back, feeling the tension of the wiry muscles underneath.

"Ar lath ma vhenan," he breathed, pulling away from her.  He tried to walk away again.  He even made it a few steps before she stopped him.

"You can't just say that and walk away," she said to his back.  He stopped, his hand coming up to brace himself against the door.

"I...," he began and fought for the next words.  "It has been so long since...."

Solas said she was strong.  She decided to prove it and took the few paces to him.  She set her chin on his shoulder and her arm around his waist again.  He was as tense as a spring, but even so, he leaned back against her.

"I haven't ever been in love before," she admitted as he leaned his head against her.  "We'll go slowly."

He put his free hand over hers.  "You astound me."

"I hope to," she replied quickly and Solas laughed despite himself.  She moved herself around to face him and offered him her hand.  "Come, vhenan, let me show you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma bora'din. Ma nuvenin, Solas. = My bad attempt at elvhen, meaning loosely "I don't want to lose you. I need you Solas"


	8. Vhenan'ara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen translations in the end notes

Solas took her offered hand and let her lead him.  

Varania was surprised to find that he was trembling, just a little, barely noticeable if she hadn't been so focused on the sensation of his fingers sliding between hers.  Even that simple motion was erotic, a promise of things to come.

She'd be a liar if she said she hadn't dreamt about this moment.  She woke from dreams more than once, grateful that he hadn't found her in the Fade again since that first time.  If he'd found those dreams, ones where she was entangled in his sinewy limbs and woke with a throbbing between her legs?

But he was here now, warm and alive in the real world with his steel blue eyes dark and conflicted.  She watched him struggle with himself.  She struggled with herself too, with her mad desire and counterpointed it with his obvious distress.

She stopped, still paces away from the bed.  "Am I pressuring you?"

He blinked at her.  Smiled. Made a little noise.  "No, you aren't. I think I'm pressuring myself."  He took her other hand and this time he did kiss the tips of her fingers.  "I had long since decided that physical pleasures were not going to be part of my life again." He chuckled darkly.  "Not that my body and I haven't disagreed about this."

Varania tried unsuccessfully not to smirk.  "I don't even know how to respond to that."

Solas looked amused.  He let go of her hands and tipped up her her chin so he could look at her.  He cocked his head.  She loved it when he did that.

"You don't have to say anything."  He prevented her attempt at a reply with a kiss.  She loved how soft his lips were, how warm his skin always was.  "This is what you want?" he whispered against her mouth.

"Yes," she replied, entwining her arms around him.  One hand was on the back of his neck, fingertips at the base of his skull.  Her fingers moved up the back of his head, grazing along the sensitive skin of his scalp.  He made a noise that was only slightly too dignified to be called a whimper.

"If you only knew what that does to me," he muttered.  Varania tilted her head back.  

"I have a pretty good idea."  She wasn't sure if it was normal to grin this much when contemplating sex, but it felt right even so.  

When he smiled this time, the corners of his eyes crinkled.  He kissed the tip of her upturned chin.  "I'm beginning to think...."  He kissed the corner of her mouth and slid his lips along her skin to her cheek until his breath ghosted the shell of her ear. "...that you are exactly what I need, despite everything."  He kissed her earlobe and nuzzled along her ear to the tip.  

Varania didn't know what  _everything_  was, but she was vividly interested in being what he needed.  She wanted him so desperately; she'd known both love and lust before, but never both at once.  It was overwhelming.  If she could give him only a fraction of what he made her feel, she would be content.

"I hope so," she said.  Taking what self control she had left, she pulled away from him and took his face between her hands.  She knew he was struggling with him and his feelings as much as she was; even now she could feel the tension in his body.  She wanted to made sure that he was here for all the right reasons.  

There was last important thing she hadn't told him.

"Solas,  _vhenan_ ," she said, suddenly serious.  " _I love you._ "  His expression softened at her admission.  Varania ran her thumb along the ridge of his cheekbones and he closed his eyes and leaned into her hand.  When he opened them again, she continued.  "I want you to be with me, however you can be.  I don't want you to regret anything."

"I regret a lot of things."  His reply was quick and he mirrored her, hand coming up to cradle her face.  "Whatever happens, I won't let this be one of them."

Her hesitation was gone at that.  He said he was ready.  He said this was what he wanted and she trusted him.  Maybe that was crazy, but she trusted him.  She kissed him this time, or so she thought.  It was hard to tell.  All at once it was a flurry of action.  Her tongue was in his mouth and his hands found their way under the hem of her tunic.  He pushed her away just long enough to yank it over her head.    The top clasp tore.  She heard it and so did he, but his only reply was a sardonic raised eyebrow before he flung the tunic off into a corner.  She wore nothing underneath.  He seemed to approve of that development, his eyes roaming over her pale pink skin.

She let his enthusiasm wash over her, fingers finding their way to his belt and unfastening the buckle, letting the leather slither to the floor.  She slipped her hands into the short sides of his sweater, his skin underneath so warm.  Her hands skidded up to his ribs.  He squirmed a little.  Varania felt a wicked grin grab the corner of her mouth.

"Are you ticklish?"

The tip of his tongue appeared between his teeth.  "Maybe."

"Oh, well, this is important information."  She wriggled her fingers and he clamped his arm over them.

"Oh no you don't." He grabbed her hand and pulled off the tunic himself.  The jawbone he wore got tangled up with it and both clattered to the floor.  Solas looked at the jawbone for a split second before making some internal decision and shaking his head.  He turned back to her, taking her hands before they could find his ribs again.

He took a step like he was stalking her and she let him lead her through the short space to the bed.  Solas had his hands on her waist and directed her to sit.  His thumbs made a little circle on her hips before swiftly unlacing her pants.  He didn't say anything, just untied them and boosted her hips up to pull them off, underthings and all.  

Normally, Varania was cold.  Tevinter was warm after all, and Skyhold was most certainly not.  But right now, she was surprised steam wasn't rising off her skin.  She was feverish.

"Now," he said, taking her hands again, he tucked her fingers into the waist of his pants.  "Let's find something else to occupy these fingers."

That was about the last thing she expected would ever come out of his mouth.  He seemed so controlled most of the time, though she knew there was passion underneath.  It was just exciting to see it exposed in something other than anger.  She curled her fingers around the fabric and tugged, pulling him a little closer.

Carefully, with deft fingers, the laces came undone.  Her heart flipped over in her chest watching him watch her with such intense focus.  Varania was at a loss for words, her heart flipping in her chest.  She looked down at her fingers, focusing there instead.  

This was so unlike all the experiences she'd had before.  Sex was a tool, something to get what you wanted.  She had lovers of other slaves, so the master could watch.  In her short years of freedom, she would trade sex for what she needed to stay alive.  Even among the Dalish, she took a lover of a widowed man hoping that would make them accept her more.  

Her fingers stilled; She was suddenly cold.

Solas stopped dead.  "Ma vhenan?"

Butterflies fluttered in her chest.  Varania looked up at him, wondering what he saw.  Solas frowned, concern washing across his face.  He knelt down in front of her instead, taking her face between his warm palms.

"If you have changed your mind, please tell me."

She grabbed at his shoulders.  "No, that's not it, not at all. I'm just...this is new."

He raised an eyebrow.  

"Not  _that_  new," she tried to smile at him though it felt flat.  "I have just always separated feelings and sex."  She gave up and frowned. "I'm not sure how to feel both at once."

"You don't have to do this," he said.  "Not for me."

She felt him pulling away, so she cut him off.  "No, I want to.  I  _want_  to be with you because I love you. I think I'm afraid I'll do something wrong."

He pulled her close but didn't speak.  Varania reveled in the heat of his body, feeling warm again.  She laid her head on his shoulder.  Solas kissed her temple and she felt him smile against her.  He still said nothing.

She wondered what he was thinking.  It was impossible to know.

" _Solas_."  His name was hardly more than a breath as she melted against him, suddenly again aware that her clothes were strewn all over the floor.  Even just this, skin touching skin, felt more intimate than anything she's experienced before.  It was this she was truly frightened of, this emotional nakedness.

"Ma enansal," Solas's voice took on a soft lilt when he spoke elvhen.  "Ma nuvenin hamin bellanaris sahlin."  

She only partially understood the words, but the meaning was still clear.  Even if she'd known none of the words, the affection and the heartache was like music in the timber of his voice.  Whatever else, at this moment, they felt the same.  Unlike the ancients the Dalish taught her about, she was mortal and her time was finite and being deeply in this moment was the only eternity she would ever really know. The realization washed over her like warm water.  

Varania slid out of his embrace just enough to move them further on to the bed, reaching for him.  Solas followed, quickly shedding the last of his clothes as he came to her.  They kissed again, softly but with increasing fervor.  He buried his hands in the waves of her red hair. She ran one hand along his back, the other on his head so against her fingers could toy with the tip of his ear.  

With a little growl, he shifted his weight and flipped her on top of him.  She straddled his narrow hips, and in this position there was no denying his arousal or hers.  She needn't have worried that her heart would get in the way.  

"Tu na nuvenin emma'in ma?" he managed, his lips brushing against her cheek.  This she understood.  _Do you want me?_  This question she could answer. In his passion, he seemed to forget how to speak anything but elvhen.  

"Neran."  _Yes, please._

Solas shifted himself underneath her and she moved in response.  With a few deft adjustments Varania felt him; insistent, urgent, demanding.  She yielded.  Poetic words flitted through her head, so different was this than just  _sex._ This was more, it's motivations were different.

He was inside her and she was all around him. 

"Elvarel," she whispered.   _More._

She moved against him with his encouragement and neither of them seemed capable of words.  Varania lifted herself up to look at him, and he followed, half sitting up, his arms tight against her, their foreheads touching as she rocked against him.  Her body responded to his so strongly.  She felt him everywhere.

"Emma lath," Solas said.   _My love._

Varania repeated it.  "Emma lath."

His eyes closed as she rocked against him, a muscle in his jaw pulsed.  His fingers were gripped tight in her hair.  She could feel growing pressure in him, held back, struggling.  She moved, shocks of pleasure radiating through her.  

So close.

She felt like floating, all her senses focused on just these sensations; the scent of his skin, his breath on hers, their bodies touching.  Everything else was forgotten.  Pleasure emanated out from the center of her body like a blush, a rush of hot blood under her skin, rushing over her belly, her breasts, up the back of her skull.  Varania heard her own voice from far away.  She cried out and Solas held her tight so she didn't fly apart as she rode out her climax against him.

Her breath came in ragged gasps and he stilled just long enough for her to regain her bearings, but then the rhythm changed.  He changed.  Solas rolled them over again, looking down at her.  His eyes had a wicked, feral gleam.  

He pulled back away from her, Varania's body protesting at the loss.  Before she could even articulate her thought, he took charge again.  He moved her like a doll until she was in front of him, on her knees but with her back pressed up against his chest.  His breath brushed over her ear.  One long arm was wrapped around her waist.  His legs moved and adjusted her.  She tilted her hips back.

Solas said nothing, just gripped her tighter, his other hand coming between them.  He moved again and he was inside her with a maddening rush of pleasure.   His body shuddered against her at the delicious friction.  The tips of his fingers grazed up along the curve of her waist, her ribs, her small breasts.  He made a deep, inarticulate sound.

They pitched forward, Solas catching himself on one hand, Varania bracing herself against the headboard.  There were no more words, just primal noises.  She heard a deep rumble from his chest and she felt his tongue sliding up along the back of her neck.  He moved faster, harder, shaking them both.  The sturdy bed groaned.

When she thought she could take no more, feeling herself responding to him yet again almost painfully, lungs grasping at air, he  _growled_.  She'd never heard such a sound from a man's throat.  It was a wild sound.  It was a purely bestial sound.  Feral.  She felt it as much as heard it as he throbbed and pulsed in her.

He collapsed, and they both tumbled into a mass of sweaty limbs and tangled bedclothes.  Solas curled himself around her, almost protectively, raining kisses along her neck, her ears, in her hair.  

"Emm'asha," Solas whispered.  "Emma lath. Emm'arla."

Varania turned herself in his arms, to see his face.  She saw the same overwhelming emotions she felt reflected there.  Her eyes felt damp.  She buried her face in his neck and let him hold her, holding him as the sun's last light disappeared behind the mountains.

"Ma emma vhenan'ara," she said, not even sure if he could hear her.  She said them as much for herself as she said them for him.  "Ma emma sa'lath."

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen translations for this chapter; please note Dragon Age Elvhen is a cipher and hence really hard to make sense of and I'm not a linguist. This is from a wide variety of sources and some of my own attempts at cobbling words together. I am not claiming its canon or even correct. But you get the picture yes?
> 
>  
> 
> Ma enansal. Ma nuvenin hamin bellanaris sahlin = You are a gift, I want to stay in this moment forever.
> 
>  
> 
> Tu na nuvenin emma'in ma? = Do you want me inside you?
> 
>  
> 
> Neran = I like that
> 
>  
> 
> Elvarel = More
> 
>  
> 
> Emma lath = My love
> 
>  
> 
> Emm'asha, Emma lath, Emm'arla = My woman, my love, my home
> 
>  
> 
> Ma emma vhenan'ara = My heart's desire
> 
>  
> 
> Ma emma sa'lath = My one love


	9. Intrigue and Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winter Ball in Halamshiral is full of interesting twists and turns.

Dorian was right; Just add a little blood magic and it could have been any party in Tevinter.  It made it oddly simple to negotiate, though at all the previous parties Varania had been one of the invisible slave elves, serving drinks and only losing her invisibility when a guest thought it would be amusing to grope her.

It was strange, being a guest of honor instead.  She cringed when they were announced, one companion after the other, all with long gracious titles. 

"Lady Lavellan, vanquisher of the rebel mages (It made no sense; She'd recruited them to join her), Leader of the Inquisition."  The other titles were no less impressive and then, at the end, "The Inquisitor's elven manservant, Solas."

_How dare they?_

It took all her carefully cultivated self control to prevent turning around and walking out again.  But this was important and she knew it.  And of course, Solas repeatedly counseled her that what was between them could not get in the way of what needed to be done.  That aside, whatever happened tonight, she needed the might of Orlais to help keep the south in one piece while she battled Corypheus.  All her righteous indignation would have to wait.

For his part, Solas seemed utterly unperturbed.  He gave her an altogether inappropriate smile when she mentioned it, getting his point across without saying a word.  He was so languid and comfortable when she finally found him again, lounging in the corner with his glass half empty and his cheeks flushed.  Varania couldn't help but be surprised at his attitude.

"I do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events."

Varania wondered if she looked as surprised as she felt. "Have you been to court before?"

He frowned at her.  "In the Fade."  Varania nodded.   _In the Fade._  Of course.  She wondered if he'd ever experienced anything first hand at all.  She wanted him to.  She wanted to experience things too, besides war and with less deception and intrigue and more sex.  But now wasn't the time.  

Despite how adorable he looked in that Inquisition uniform and knowing it all should wait even so, she couldn't help but ask.  "Dance with me?"

Solas smiled at her, even his expression slow.  "Later," he offered.  "It won't help you win the favor of the court by dancing with your elf."

"I'm an elf."

Solas shook his head.  "Your goal must be to make them forget that."

Varania sighed.  He was right.

She left him there, still lounging against the wall and slipping into a comfortable state of intoxication.  She was a bit jealous of his ease.  He was far from the only one who seemed to be enjoying the evening far more than she would, though her companions were in varying stages of comfort.  

She'd brought them all, her entire inner circle, her advisors, even Loghain.  She brought everyone who was willing to come as a guest, knowing that was the best way to get as many fighting hands into the building.  Gaspard seemed pleased by her massive entourage as did the court.  Whatever it took.

Cassandra was stiff and uncomfortable.  Varric seemed to be taking notes.  Cullen was apparently fending off admirers and Sera was picking pockets.  On the other hand, Dorian looked at home and Leliana and Vivienne were clearly in their element.  It gave her some hope that they'd manage to pull this off after all.

Even with their help, it was a complete and utter disaster.  In the end, Celene was dead, Florianne was dead, Gaspard was blackmailed into submission and Briala was quietly gloating in the shadows.  It wasn't the way she wanted to make elves worthy of respect, by making one the shadowy power behind the throne who was just as devious as Celene ever was.

But it was done and there was no going back now.  Briala and Gaspard both pledged to support the Inquisition and as long as their alliance held up long enough to defeat Corypheus, Varania could deal with the aftermath later if she managed to survive.

Varania was good at survival, but even she had her doubts they'd all walk away from this in one piece.

Afterward, though a part of her wanted desperately to run away, she knew then it was time for Leliana and her people to work.  It was time to be seen. It was time to watch cultured ladies faint all over themselves when Iron Bull swung a flustered looking Dorian out on to the dance floor and absolutely upstaged everyone else.  It had been worth staying, for that moment if nothing else. 

Varania found herself overwhelmed to the be the focus of so much attention.  She extricated herself from a throng of insincere admirers and headed towards the balcony to tuck herself out of view of the door, hoping no one would notice she was missing for a while.  The amount of wine imbibed by those around her was helping on that front.  She'd carried a glass around herself and imagined she'd only taken a sip or two.  But they refilled her glass at every opportunity.  Her cheeks were flushed and she knew she'd had more wine than was strictly wise.

She slipped out into the night air only to find Celene's once advisor Morrigan already there, engaged in what appeared to be a very intense conversation with Loghain.  It looked as if they knew each other, and very well though clearly not on entirely good terms.  Varania considered just escaping again before they noticed her, but that wasn't the right thing to do here.  Hiding aside, she needed to be the Inquisitor, so instead, she cleared her throat.

Loghain looked up first.  He was scowling.  

"Ah, Inquisitor," Morrigan said, the soft lilt of her voice dismissing Loghain's fury as if it wasn't there.  She smiled broadly but it didn't quite reach her eyes.  "We were just speaking of you.  I was telling Warden Loghain that I planned on offering my skills to the Inquisition, now that my position at court is no longer required."

Loghain made a grumbling and reluctant reply.  "Yes, I must admit, the witch does have a variety of knowledge that could be useful to you."

"That may be the kindest thing you've ever said to me."  Morrigan laughed at him.

He didn't justify it with a verbal response, only frowned at her for a moment before turning to Varania.  She wondered what this was about, but knew better than to ask now.  

"If you'll excuse me," he said, nodding to Varania.  "We'll speak more at Skyhold, should circumstances allow for it," he said, directed clearly to Morrigan. 

"Perhaps."  Morrigan's reply had none of her earlier joviality.  Loghain left without another word for either of them.  Varania considered asking and Morrigan seemed to recognize it.

"Don't ask, not here and not now, because I won't answer," she said.  "For the moment at least, it is immaterial.  However, there are many questions I  _can_  answer and perhaps even this question, should it become important."  She canted her head, a swath of silky black hair falling over one eye.  "If you will accept my assistance to the Inquisition."

Varania wasn't sure what to make of her.  She had been honest about everything she'd offered thus far, but Leliana had suggested to be wary.  But what better place to watch someone than right beside you?  It seemed like a wise thought, something from the books Dorian suggested to her from the library.  Many times, she'd read late into the night trying desperately to become the leader the Inquisition needed.

Often she read with Solas curled up on her lap and was certain she missed half of it, distracted by the sounds of his breathing and the soft expressions he made as he slept and explored the Fade.

Distracted like now, again.  She quickly looked back at Morrigan.  She was smiling knowingly.

"Yes," Varania said, trying to act like she hadn't just drifted off.  _Stupid wine._  "The Inquisition would benefit from your knowledge I think."

"Thank you Inquisitor," Morrigan looked behind Varania as she spoke, her knowing expression only solidifying.  "I will see you at Skyhold then." She floated past Varania like some exotic bird.  Varania watched her go, seeing what Morrigan had as she turned.  

Solas stood in the doorway, empty wine glass in one hand.  He seemed just slightly disheveled.  His ears were pink and his eyes were glassy.

"Hello vhenan," he said, smiling broadly before brushing past Morrigan and coming out to her.  His normal graceful gait was different somehow, slower, looser.

"You're drunk."  Her voice was both shocked and delighted.  He gave her another languid smile.

"Probably," he admitted as he leaned up against the stone railing.  "And perhaps not wise, but I found that after the second glass it didn't seem particularly important.  

Varania couldn't help but laugh.  "This is something I never thought I would see.  You always refuse to join us for Wicked Grace and when Bull wants us to try some new terrible Qunari drink."

He shrugged.  "Its complicated."  Varania heard herself sigh irritably, more than she intended.  A little line appeared between Solas's eyebrows and he looked away.  She mimicked his stance with her elbows on the railing and leaned her head against him.  The faint scent of wine seemed to actually come from his skin.  

"I'm sorry," she said.  "I don't want you to behave any differently for my benefit.  I only like your company, maybe more than I should."  She chuckled.  "And for now, I'd certainly hate to ruin this moment of potentially lower inhibitions with a disagreement."

Solas made a little mirthful noise.  "Yes, very true.  We need must take advantage of these moments.  Indeed all the little moments are to be savored."  He pushed back from the rail and Varania turned to watch as he gave her an overly dramatic half bow and offered her his hand.  

"Before the band stops playing, before...," A wistful expression fluttered across his face like a breeze.  "Dance with me."  Her heart did a little flip.

"Yes."  Varania stepped into his arms.  Only the faintest strains of music drifted out on to the balcony, but it enough.  She wasn't even particularly interested in the music or even in the dancing.  Just being close to him after this terrible night was enough.  All those disgusted looks, all those awful choices.  Right now, her hand clasped in his, his hand firm on the small of her back, none of it seemed so terrible.

She rested her head on his shoulder.  "This was an awful night, until now."

Solas just hummed in response, his arm pulling her a little closer.  Their feet moved, supposedly in time with the rhythm of the music, but Varania wasn't even sure she could actually hear it.  She lifted her head to look up at him.  

There was so much in that gaze, this very old soul she realized she hardly knew at all.  She wanted to know his so desperately, yet all her questions went unanswered.  

_Do you have a family?_

_Yes, but I have not seen them in a very long time._

She didn't even know how old he was.  He wouldn't tell her.

_Old enough._

Cryptic and yet, did it even matter?  He leaned down and kissed her, softly.  It didn't matter, not any of it.  They all had pasts.  If her own sordid past, as a slave, someone who betrayed her own blood, full of mistakes and choices made with animal instincts, if this didn't chase him away from her?  What did it matter who he was before they met on the battlefield, when he took her hand and showed her the power of the anchor?

She kissed him back, with more force.  She backed him up until he was pressed against the wall next the door, pinned between her body and the stucco.  Her breath came fast, her hands with minds of their own exploring along his shoulders and his back, carefully avoiding those spots that she'd discovered were ticklish.

Solas's head lolled back against the wall, pulling away enough to catch his breath.  He looked down at her with a lazy smile.

"Let's find somewhere more private to dance," he whispered with a deep tone to his voice.

Varania bit her lip and nodded, pressing the length of herself against him as punctuation.  Then, as if they were love addled adolescents and not supposedly wise agents of the Inquisition, they clasped hands and skirted into the ballroom again, along the wall towards the trophy room.  She lead him and somewhere behind one of those big statues was going to be good enough.  She couldn't wait any longer.  

She pulled him through the only slightly ajar door and closed it behind them.  She flung her arms around his neck and leaned in towards him.

And then someone giggled.  A woman's voice, husky and deep and familiar.

"Cassandra?"  Varania pulled away from Solas and peered around the side of one of the pillars.  

"And...Commander Cullen," Solas supplied.  

He laughed as the two already tucked in between the statues both realized they were not alone and attempted to rearrange themselves into a less inappropriate position. Cullen had Cassandra between him and the wall, and the rosy lip stain she'd been wearing was smeared all over Cullen's face.  Cassandra couldn't even look at them, her  hand over her face and her head turned away.  Thankfully for all four of them, no one had lost any clothing as of yet, but they were both more than a little disheveled.

"Inquisitor, I, I mean we," Cullen stuttered as he yanked down the hem of his red tunic abruptly.  The entire scene was beyond comical.  He was blushing furiously.

Varania couldn't help but laugh.  She held a hand up to stop him before he could continue. "No, you don't have to explain.  I'm certain no one on this room..."  She laughed again instead of continuing.  "We're going to," she pointed back over her shoulder.  "We're just going to go now."

Solas looked at her out of the corner of his eye.  He was the absolute picture of amusement.  Varania looked back at Cullen and wished she had a way to capture this moment.  His face, unlike Solas's was the perfect epitome of distress.

"Enjoy yourselves," Solas added helpfully and Cullen's blush actually managed to increase.  Varania hadn't thought it would be possible.  Cassandra cleared her throat.

"Can we pretend this didn't happen?" she asked.

Varania shook her head.  "No, because I think it's wonderful."  She grinned.  "But we won't tell anyone.  That's your choice."  Snickering, she added, "As you were."

She took Solas's hand again and they made as graceful an exit as they could, closing the door before both breaking into laughter.  All those stuffy Orlesians were just looking at them, the elven Inquisitor with her savage tattoos and her bald  _elven manservant_  laughing with tears in their eyes, drunk in the middle of a ball.  

And all without masks;  _How scandalous._

She looked over at Solas and he looked so happy, happy in a way she wasn't sure she'd ever seen him before.  She squeezed his hand.  She didn't care who saw them or heard them.

She reached over kissed him, not caring when there were voices whispering when she did it.  "I love you."

He smiled back.  "As I do you, ma vhenan."

This wasn't at all the moment she expected, but after all this grimness, all the darkness of this day and of all these days, this moment of laughter stood out brilliantly.  Varania clutched the feeling tightly inside herself.  

Together, they got to be happy for one perfect moment and that was more than some people had in a lifetime.  Whatever else she was, Varania was lucky.  She was lucky and she was loved and she was alive.

Corypheus didn't stand a chance against her.


	10. Blood and Lyrium

"Honestly, the entire idea makes me exhausted," Maire Hawke said as she walked beside Varania and ran a hand through her cropped ginger hair.  "I know logically there's a difference between what Merrill does, what my cousin Kya does and what's going on with the Wardens. But after everything that happened at The Gallows?  I still have a hard time with  _magic is magic_ ."

Solas nodded.  "After what you've told us, even I cannot fault that.  The primary flaw in the practice of blood magic does seem to be its abuse; it's use as a crutch instead of a tool."  He got a sly look on his face.  "Wouldn't you agree, Dorian?"

Dorian threw his hands up.  "I'm not having this conversation with you.  You'll find some way to turn it around.  I know when I'm out matched."

Solas chuckled.  He loved being right.

Varania walked between Hawke and Solas and hadn't offered much during their exchange.  She'd seen enough blood magic in Tevinter to be too wary to try it, yet at the same time, she saw Solas's point.  Often it wasn't used for anything different than other magic.  

Lyrium or blood? What did it matter?

Despite the dark subject, the mood as they neared Skyhold was pleasant.  This far into the mountains they dismounted the horses and walked them.  It was too easy to have a beast turn an ankle and wasn't worth the chance.  And they weren't in a hurry for once.  There was much to plan for now, but no one wanted to face the seemingly insurmountable task that was taking Adamant.

Instead, they avoided the subject entirely and found themselves falling into a comfortable rhythm of companionship.  

More had joined them as they moved.  Not just Morrigan and her son, but also a variety of volunteers looking to join the Inquisition.  By the time they neared the gates, between her inner circle, soldiers, recruits and their supporters, they were nearing one hundred strong.  Their footprints and voices rang out in the cold clear air.  

They continued to talk about magic and blood and Varania found herself tuning out the words and just hearing their voices like music.  Her feet crunched in the snow.  Her nose was cold.

She was happy.

Just over the ridge, the bridge to Skyhold came into view and there were a few jovial cheers, a gasp or two, and even some tears from their newest recruits.  It amazed her how much the Inquisition meant to people, even as they struggled so hard every day to just keep going.  They looked to her, as if she was the reason for it all.  

Sometimes it felt like a crushing weight, bearing her down into the mountain, but today if felt like they were lifting her up, carrying her along so she could do what had to be done; to close the rifts and find some way to make the world right again.  As the distance closed towards Skyhold, for brief moment everything seemed to be in the right place.  Maybe there was something to this crazy idea that she really was chosen for this.

The first footsteps onto the stone of the bridge echoed.  Varania slowed her steps and stopped, moving herself out of the way of the parade of bodies to gaze out at the blue shadows decorating the peaks, the pink streaks just beginning to appear at the horizon.  Solas stopped beside her, just close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body, but not touching.  In the distance, a hawk screamed.

"Is something amiss vhenan?" He spoke softly enough that no one would hear them.

"Not at all," she smiled, looking over at him.  As stunning as the view was, she found herself more interested in looking at Solas instead.  It wasn't even that she found him handsome, though she did, but there was puzzle behind those blue eyes and she wanted work it out.  She reached her hand out toward him.  "Everything is...."

She was cut short by a woman's voice, not quite a word but an exclamation, a thousand emotions rolled into that utterance.  Both Varania and Solas turned to look in time to see Hawke break into a run across the bridge.  Without thinking, Varania grabbed Solas's wrist, almost to keep herself standing.  There was only one person that would send Hawke running across that bridge.

"Maker's balls," Varric's voice cut in from behind her.  "It's Fenris."

Varania's fingers tightened around Solas's wrist.

"Your brother," he said, hand coming over hers.  His fingers felt hot.

She didn't trust herself to speak, only nodded.  Everything seemed to move in slow motion.  Her greatest mistake stood on the other side of the bridge, holding his tall wife in his arms.  She could only see parts of him, mostly eclipsed by Hawke and her cloak fluttering around them in the breeze.

"The last time I saw him, he rightfully wanted to kill me," she muttered, uncaring if anyone heard her. "And I do need to talk to him; I want him to understand."  She snorted.  "But he won't listen.  He never did. Not even before."

Solas looked sympathetic.  "I do understand."  He squeezed her hand.  "But he is here, and perhaps that means more than you realize."

Varania looked at him from the corner of her eyes.  "You've never struck me as the silver lining type, Solas."

He smiled. "I'm full of surprises."

Varric patted her back as he passed.  "He's less likely to kill you these days," he said. "If that's any help."

She resisted the urge to say something flippant in reply but there was nothing flippant about what happened between them.  She couldn't joke about it.

Varania gritted her teeth and waited. She waited until everyone else passed into Skyhold.  Several of the new recruits looked at her with awe as they went by and Varania did her best not to cringe.  It had gotten easier, with victory upon victory, to see herself differently.  Sometimes she was able to see the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, sometimes even as just a woman who loved a man; not just the former slave who stumbled into all of this by accident.

But Fenris, he made her remember who she was, whether she wanted to or not.  As different as he looked now with his red hair gone white, now cropped short to his head, his eyes were still the same.  They were the same eyes she saw in the mirror everyday; overlarge, even for an elf and that same odd grey green with the slightly out of place dark eyelashes.  

He just stood there, like a testament to the history she wished she could forget, right outside the portcullis talking to Hawke.  A few times Hawke made animated hand gestures in Varania's direction.  Varania was glad she couldn't hear what they were saying.  

Solas waited with her for a while, but eventually she sent him ahead.  As much as he had become a part of her life, as much as she relied on his knowledge, the magic he was teaching her and his steady presence, this was something she could only do alone.

Her feet were numb, even in her heavy boots.  The coldness of the snow seeped in the seams now that she was still.  Her heart thudded in her chest and there was a vague ache behind her eyebrows and between her shoulder blades.  She'd faced an ancient magister with aspirations of godhood, but walking across the bridge to see her brother seemed more terrifying.

She squared her shoulders and stood up straight.  She forced herself to believe in herself for a moment, even if it wouldn't last.  This was  _her_  home.  She hadn't done it alone, not at all, but she was the Inquisitor.  Whatever mistakes she'd made, whatever hatred he bore her, it was out of her hands now.  She couldn't undo the past.  

She was sorry for what she'd almost done to Leto... _Fenris..._ but she couldn't imagine that was going to be enough.

With faked bravado, she finally made her way across the bridge.  Her footsteps echoed around her.  Fenris didn't look up until the last moment, turning his eyes away from where Hawke held his hands in hers.  The expression on his face was utterly blank.

"Welcome to Skyhold, Le..." she almost said his given name, the name he'd let go of when the lyrium burned away his memories and he forgot her.  Varania corrected herself.  "Fenris."

He snorted at her and Hawke rolled her eyes, the expression shrugging her entire body in an exaggerated way. 

" _Fenris_." She used his name as a scolding.

He glanced back at her, meeting her eyes for a moment before his shoulders slumped a little.   _Fine,_  his posture said.  He looked back at Varania; this time his face looked sour.

"Inquisitor," he managed.  His voice was at once familiar and totally foreign.  The silence that followed was silence long and uncomfortable.  Eventually Hawke sighed melodramatically.  

"Fine," she said, frustrated.  She turned to Varania.  She looked more sympathetic than Varania expected.  "Fenris came to Skyhold at my request.  I wanted...," she paused and looked back at Fenris as if she was daring him to interrupt.  When he said nothing and just looked at her blandly, she continued.  "I wanted to bring Fenris and Bethany to the safest place I could.  And this is it." 

"I thought your sister Bethany died during the Blight."  Varania furrowed her brow.  "I overheard you speaking to Blackwall."

Hawke made a bitter sound.  "My sister did die during the Blight.  Bethany is my daughter."  She gave Fenris another pointed look.  "Your niece."

Varania wasn't sure how to reply.  Every mistake she'd even made was a on a slow replay through her head. Her brother's child, here, in Skyhold.  She felt a sudden pang, an emptiness she thought she'd put behind her.  She remembered her mother's face.

"Oh," was the terribly articulate reply she finally came up with. "I...congratulations."

Hawke smiled.  "Bethany is almost three now, so it's a bit late for all that."  She looked back at Fenris as if she was trying to communicate with him without words.  After a moment she added.  "Why don't you go take Bethany to see Uncle Varric?  I'm sure he's missed her."

Fenris nodded at her and turned away without a word.  Varania watched him walk away.  It was still Leto, even under those lyrium brands, walking with that same slouching posture their mother always scolded him about.

_Stand up straight, Leto.  You should be proud to be so tall._

Hawke's voice interrupted her.  "Despite how he's acting, Fenris wanted to come here.  He...I don't know.  He understands more now."  She put her hand on Varania's arm and Varania turned to look at her.  "I know what you did was out of desperation.  I know desperation.  I've been there before."

"Thank you for trying to help, but I know I was wrong," Varania said, turning away to look back in the direction Fenris had gone.  She saw the last flash of white hair as she turned the corner at the top of stairs.  "And I probably should have died for it, but I didn't.  And now, there are things only I can do."

"You shouldn't have died because you made a mistake."  Hawke voice was soft.

"Maybe, maybe not," Varania said.  Fenris's presence made her feel small, twelve years old and terrified.  He made her feel twenty-two and made her remember that burning sensation in her lungs when she ran from Kirkwall and almost threw herself into the Waking Sea.

_When I look at you now, I think you got the better part of the deal._

She meant it then, and she meant it now.

She was still a slave, this time to the anchor in her hand.  She didn't get to make her own choices.  How could she have been so foolish to let herself thing otherwise?

"Maker, the two of you are so alike; you're going to brood yourselves to death," Hawke groused. She shook her head.  "Think about what I said.  And talk to him.  Please." She sighed.  "For both your sakes and for mine.  And for Bethany.  She doesn't have much for family, just my brother Carver who is as far away from Orlais as I could get him and you.  I don't want her to lose what little she has."  

Varania made a little noise.  "I can't imagine I'm good family to have."

"Well, I disagree," Hawke said quickly.  "I see what you've done here, how all these people feel about you.  Whatever you think, you keep making the right, good choices.  These good people love you, including Varric.  He said you impress him all the time.  He thinks you really are the Herald of Andraste, you know.  I trust him.  You should too."  Hawke patted her arm again.  "Just think about it."

She left her then, heading up the stairs after Fenris, with a spring in her step she hadn't seen from Hawke before.  Varania sighed.

The feelings swirling in her chest answered a few questions Varania had about herself, all those things she still wrestled with.  She wasn't so secure as she was pretending to be.  She wasn't sure about anything except that despite being in the middle of all these people, despite having a lover and friends and more than she could have even imagined she wanted, sometimes she still felt desperately alone.  No one else could really understand her; what she'd been through, how she'd lived before.

She missed her mother, but she was dead.  She missed her brother, but he hated her.  He'd tried to help her, even if it had hurt her in the end.  He tried to find her again and she offered him back into the jaws of servitude.  Fenris hated her and he had every right to do it.

Varania hated herself too.

Lyrium and Blood.  They mattered after all.


	11. Predictability and Anger

Hawke had quarters up along the curtain wall, as did Loghain and several of the other agents they'd acquired. Morrigan took a pair of rooms off the the garden to find herself more privacy.  Skyhold was plenty big enough to accommodate them all, even little tiny children. Varania knew her niece would be human.  That was what happened when elves had children with shemlen.  The Dalish found it offensive, yet the Keeper often told a tale about an elf-blooded Dreamer who lived with the Sabrae clan for a time.  She said their Keeper, Marethari was a good kind soul who could look past the round ears and see the elf inside the boy.

She could see it in Bethany too.  The little girl had dark skin like Fenris and lovely auburn hair.  Her eyes were brown as fall acorns and she smiled a lot.   She had a tiny, musical voice and too long eyelashes.  Varania wanted to scoop her up and kiss her to pieces but she stood back and watched silently from the open doorway.

Hawke sat on the bed, her long legs folded under her, a faint smile on her face.  Fenris knelt on the floor with his daughter, holding her under her arms and talking to her with an animated voice.  She would never have believed if is she wasn't seeing it.

Varania cleared her throat and Hawke looked up.  She smiled.  When Fenris looked up, his smile disappeared.  Hawke got off the bed and swung Bethany into her arms, plopping her on to the swell of her hip.

"Come on baby girl," she said.  "I hear your new Uncle Blackwall is making a rocking griffon."  She smiled at her daughter.  "Let's go see if he'll let us test it out."  Hawke nodded at Varania knowingly as she walked out the door.  

Varania was glad she hadn't tried to introduce them just yet, but she heard the little girl's voice ring out from behind her.

"Who's that pretty lady momma?" Varania flinched at the pained expression that rolled across Fenris's face when he heard it.  He got to his feet and crossed his arms over his chest.  

"That's the Inquisitor, " Hawke explained, her voice fading as she walked away.  "She's your Aunt and we'll talk to her later."

"Oh good," Bethany's little voice replied.  "I like that her face looks like mine."

Varania closed her eyes.  She took a deep breath and opened them again.  Fenris was staring at her, his jaw set.  He fiddled with the positioning of his arms over his chest.  She took another breath and tried to ignore the muscle tensing beneath her shoulder blade.

"She's beautiful," she said.

"She looks like you," Fenris groused.  "And like me.  Hawke complains that she only gave her the ears."

Varania couldn't help but smile at that.  "I like Hawke," she said, still trying to avoid the looming subject between them.  "She's been a great ally."

Fenris nodded.  

It was so awkward.  They just looked at each other.  They looked at the walls, the floor.  

"I'm sorry Fenris," she said finally and he looked up at her.  

His lips thinned.  "I'm sure you are."  He tightened his arms around himself.

"Do you even care why?" she blurted out, unable to stop herself.

"Should I care?" he grunted.  "If Danarius had succeeded, if Hawke hadn't been there...."  He shook his head, frowning.  "I'd be a slave and you'd be a magister and then you wouldn't be sorry at all."

"You really think that, don't you?" she asked, not really expecting him to reply.  She mimicked his stance, arms folded, though hers were around her middle instead of her chest in a vain attempt to comfort herself.  "I was starving to death, I was beaten by the man that employed me once he found out I was a mage.  I was dying by inches when Danarius found me and offered me a way out.  And I thought, if being free was so terrible for me, it couldn't be any better for you."  She made a strangled sound.  "Being a slave was  _better_  than being free in Tevinter.  I thought...I thought I could save us both."  She looked away.  "I didn't know there was any other life we could have."

He sneered.  "You expect me to believe that?"

"No," she replied quickly.  "I expect you to scream and rant and think only about yourself."  She gritted her teeth, glaring at him.  "That's how you always were.  You were so jealous when my magic developed and Danarius had his apprentice teach me how to read.  I tried to show you and you refused.  You went after the Lyrium instead; you fought like an animal to get it.  Anything to show the world you were better, even if you didn't have magic."  She pointed at him.  "You did this to yourself and its just like you to forget everything so you could blame someone else.  It was  _always_  someone else's fault."  She bit back a sob that threatened to tear out of her throat.  "I know we were taught that we were just tools, just things to be used.  But amongst each other?  Us slaves tried to comfort each other, to work together to give ourselves the best life we could but you never did, you never took part.  You never helped anyone.  You fought everything.  You've never stopped fighting, not even now when you're more free than I'll ever be."

Fenris opened his mouth to reply.  Varania could almost feel his scathing words before he said them, but instead he closed his mouth again and frowned, though it was different than before.  Sadder, resigned even.

"I do fight everything, or I did at least," he admitted.  "I almost lost Hawke."  He sighed, though it was more like a low growl.  "I don't remember much still," he said.  "But I do remember more than I did before.  I remember our mother and you and I remember being so fucking angry, all the time.  I'm still angry."

She didn't expect him to concede anything.  She was so surprised that she just looked at him dumbly, unable to process it.  She'd almost expected him to attack her.  Part of her wanted him to.

"I don't know that I can forgive you," he said.  "But I can't forgive me either."

Varania was at a loss.  "I don't need you to do anything.  Except maybe not kill me.  There are things I need to do first.  At least wait until I figure out a way to kill Corypheus."

"I thought we killed him last time," Fenris admitted.  "I don't know if it can be done."

"It has to be," Varania said.  "And I'm going to find a way.  Once it's over?  You're welcome to tear my heart out, just like you threatened to."

"I...," he stopped and didn't finish. 

She turned her back to him, almost hoping he'd just do it.  She didn't want to die, but this hurt.  Everything hurt.

"At Adamant," he began, before the silence overwhelmed them again.  "Please take care of Hawke.  She doesn't...she's willing to throw herself in front of things to save people she cares about."

"I won't let her die for me," Varania said, not looking back.  "No matter what comes."

Fenris made an approving sound.  "Thank you."

She never thought she'd hear him say that, but she couldn't just let it stand.

"Don't thank me yet," she said.  She looked back at him over her shoulder.  "But I'll do what I can."  She gave him a last nod and walked back through the still open door and down the long stretch of wall between their rooms and the tower ahead that held Cullen's office.  She could almost feel his eyes boring into her back, debating.

If Hawke fell, he'd try to kill her.  She wasn't sure she wouldn't deserve it, but if he tried, the Inquisition was bound to kill him.  Even with his lyrium brands, Fenris was just one man in a keep filled with people loyal to her, whether she deserved it or not.

For the second time, her brother's life was in her hands.

She opened the door to Cullen's office and closed if behind her stoically.  Cullen was leaning over his desk, pondering over a map of the Western Approach.  He looked up at the sound of the door and smiled at her.

"Inquisitor," he said.  His voice was friendly and happy to see her, as he usually was.  After she'd supported him as he struggled with his lyrium addiction, he'd come to see her as a friend.  Sometimes, she wished this tall awkward human was her brother instead of that sullen man who shared her eyes.  Varania felt her lip tremble.

Cullen saw it and came around the desk, his hand on her shoulder.  "Are you well?"

Varania shook her head, but didn't dare speak.  She swallowed the lump in her throat.  Cullen looked at her for a moment and frowned.

"I was planning on going to speak with Cassandra about the last of the plans for Adamant.  Would you like to join me?"  He didn't ask what was wrong, rightfully reading on her face that she wouldn't tell him.  

Varania let out the breath she didn't know she was holding.  "I noticed you stopped using her title," she commented, grateful for something else to think about.  "Does that mean?"

Cullen's cheeks flushed pink and his ears were suddenly red.  "I...," he almost stuttered.  He swallowed.  "Yes."

Varania faked a smile though she was pleased to hear it.  "I'm very happy for you."

Cullen looked pleased.  Her heart still hurt, but she pushed it down.  It was easier to be happy for Cullen and Cassandra than it was to be happy for herself anyway.  However, suddenly Solas's face flashed into her head and she felt some sincerity work its way into her forced smile.

"Thank you," Cullen said, rubbing the back of his neck.  "It was unexpected, but I think we're happy."

"Well, let's go then," Varania said and Cullen held out his arm.  She looped her hand over his elbow.  "All that blushing is bound to be distracting."

Cullen laughed.  "We are that predictable."

Varania's smile slipped a little.  "Most of us are."  

 

 

  


	12. The Spirit and the Slave

Varania sat next to Cole on the wall between the upper and lower courtyard, swinging her legs in unison with him, tapping her heels against the stones. It was early, just barely after dawn and the air was damp and cool as it shook off the night. Cole had woken her up from a nightmare, appearing at the side of her bed like a ghost. Completely by accident, he scared her half to death.

"The thing wearing your brother's face is a demon." he had blurted out, excited to the point of hysteria. "Don't believe it, not even the parts that are true."

In retrospect, Varania couldn't decide if that made her feel worse or better about the ranting Leto in her dream. Leto, not Fenris, younger with floppy red hair, screaming as Master Danarius cut patterns into his skin with a knife, bleeding him and pouring caustic lyrium into the wounds as he chanted. Magical energy swirled around them both.

Leto's screams echoed in her head. She screamed when Cole woke her.

Cole apologized profusely. Her dreaming mind was so loud he couldn't tune it out and he was afraid she would give in to the demon. Though she assured him she wasn't tempted, that Keeper Dashana has taught her well, he hadn't looked entirely convinced. Instead, he offered to make her forget, but Varania refused. Her memories were jumbled enough without being adjusted from the outside.

It had been two weeks since her confrontation with Fenris, and she hadn't seen him since. He and Hawke were keeping to themselves in their tower room and she certainly wasn't going to go looking for them. It was no wonder she was having dreams about him. Nothing was settled. She wasn't sure if it would ever be settled between them.

Luckily, Cole seemed to accept her wishes and instead they went together outside so Varania could watch him work.

They had favors out, looking for a Rivani amulet for him, something that would prevent other mages from binding him if they figured out what he was. Since Cole had recognized the danger, he'd been jumpy and the wait was making him more anxious. She didn't blame him. Varania knew how it felt to be controlled and it scared her too.

Helping people calmed him. She assumed it was for the same reason that Solas's friend Wisdom had become a demon, but in reverse. Cole was a spirit of compassion and the more he helped, the more like himself he was.

It was wonderful to see his face light up. He clearly wasn't a child, but he had so many childlike, innocent qualities. He made things easier to bear, even when he didn't make her forget.

"He doesn't know how," Cole said out of nowhere. "But he wants to. He wants his baby to be happier than he was."

Varania looked over at him. "You mean Fenris, don't you?"

"He's very angry, but he's not sure who to be angry with."

"That sounds right," Varania snorted. _He was always like that, even before._

Cole cocked his head. "He used to be more angry, but he's trying. He...oh," Cole said, It was almost like a dog's ears perking up as he shifted his attention to someone else. "Proud and broken," he began, "So guilty, bloody-handed. It's his fault she died and he can't forgive himself. He's failed everyone now. There's no one left except the one that doesn't need him anymore."

Varania tried to see who Cole was looking at. Cole seemed to recognize what she was doing and he pointed down into the lower courtyard.

"I would help, but he wouldn't like it," he said softly. "He thinks he deserves to be hurt. For a lot of reasons."

She almost didn't recognize him out of armor, but Cole was pointing at Loghain, making his way from the wall towards the stables. Probably going to speak with Blackwall, she imagined. She had no idea what Cole was talking about, who she was, but it sounded very sad. It almost made her wish she knew him well enough to help. He'd helped her after all.

But she didn't know Loghain at all. She wasn't going to ask. How would she bring that up?

_My spirit told me you feel guilty. What's that about?_

Sometimes Cole's gifts were a double edged blade.

"That one wishes that she was shorter," Cole said, pointing to a tow-headed human woman, polishing her plate armor. "So the dwarf with the tattoos and the short beard might notice her." He made a grumpy sound. "I can't fix that either." He sounded frustrated. "I can't help Solas either; he won't let me see." He looked at Varania, the movement shifting his fringe of hair away from his eyes for a moment. "Why do so many of you want to keep your hurt? I don't understand."

"It's hard to explain," Varania said. "Sometimes, its only our hurts that stop us from making the same mistakes over and over again."

"Oh." Cole got a faraway look. "Hungry and lost with nowhere else to go. Forgetting how terrible it was because its worse now. He's probably hungry too."

Varania shuddered. He was talking about her. About Fenris.

"His eyes are angry and then running and running and running. Please let me be dead." Cole looked up at her. "Like that?"

She nodded. "Just like that Cole."

Before she realized what was happening, Cole hopped up on the wall on the balls of his feet. He moved so fast she didn't even register he was moving at first. He gave her a little look and sprung himself off the wall, into a tree branch and then on to the ground where she watched as he had a quick talk with a sullen looking elf. She had circles under her eyes and a frown. As Cole spoke to her, she got a dreamy expression that morphed into a smile.

Cole was a wonder, even if he couldn't help her.

Varania swung her legs over the wall and headed back inside. The others would be awake soon and there were last minute plans to be made for the attack on Adamant.

Before that, there was the delivery of the dragon to attend to.

In Tevinter, everything had dragons on it. Statues, clothes, murals, everything. Varania thought she knew plenty about dragons, but when scouts in the Hinterlands came screaming in from the field with reports of one, she learned quickly that she didn't know anything. She took Bull, Solas and Sera out to check and they survived only by the narrowest margin.

Maker's mercy. She was still amazed they'd survived the encounter at all, though both Sera and Bull were beside themselves with glee over it.

They'd taken some pieces of the dragon; a few scales and bones, but the rest was coming to Skyhold today, meat and the skull in wagons, scales for armor and bones for weapons. Everyone was excited about it. Dagna was practically vibrating.

She hadn't seen much of Solas since the fight. He made himself scarce and she wasn't sure why. But she didn't force the issue. She was so caught up in her own agony over her brother, she knew she wasn't much for company anyway. It was funny, so many people would have run to the ones they loved when they were hurting, but Varania was used to dealing with things on her own. Sharing your hurts just drove people further away.

Trying to pull herself together, she made her way up the stairs into the hall. Cole's words wouldn't get out of her head.

_He's very angry, but he's not sure who to be angry with._

Varania wasn't entirely sure either, but her palms felt itchy. So much was her fault. She wondered how much more she could bear.

She passed through the door, out of the early morning cool into the cavern of the hall where the fire was crackling and lanterns were burning. At the first door way that led to the rotunda, Solas was leaning against the wall. He pushed himself to his feet when he saw her come in.

"Vhenan," he said, with a small smile. "I've been looking for you."

Varania was happy to see him. She might not come to him for comfort, but she was certainly willing to take attention and affection if he offered it.

"Solas," she smiled at him. "You've found me."

He looked pleased at her reply. "I have something for you," he said simply. "If you have a moment."

"I always have time for you, ma lath," she admitted. That bit was true. There wasn't much that would take precedent. Fenris perhaps, but she couldn't be certain.

For his part, Solas looked pleased. He offered her his hand. "Let us find somewhere private."

Varania couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that as she took his hand. It had been a while since she'd had any private time with Solas. Her expression appeared to reflect the immediate thought that jumped into her head, because he chuckled at her in response.

"Alas, I don't think there's time for that," he said, pausing with a smug look before he continued. "Though perhaps we ought to make some time before we leave for the Western Approach tomorrow." He smirked at her. "For the moment, I have something different for you."

Feeling sheepish, she squeezed his had and resisted the urge to apologize. She knew it annoyed him when she apologized for things he didn't find offensive and so she did her best to tamp down the urge when it appeared. He lead her back into the rotunda and to his desk. Reaching into a drawer at the top, he pulled out a square of folded leather and put it into the palm of her hand. He folded her fingers over it, one hand underneath and the other draped over the top. She could feel something hard inside the delicate leather wrapping, vaguely oval shaped.

"I noticed that Varric calls you Butterfly," Solas said, without way of introduction, "But only when he thinks no one else is listening. His voice does carry however, right down this little hallway and I can hear him when I read at this desk," he continued. "Has he ever told you why?"

Varania shook her head. "I never thought to ask. He has nicknames for all of us after all."

"True indeed," he said. "Some flattering and some less so." He snorted. "Though I find Chuckles is growing on me, despite my better judgment."

A surprised grin snuck on to her face. She loved the idea that such a name might please him.

"However, he's more generous with some. He calls Cole _Kid_ for example, since that is how he sees him. Not as a spirit or something otherworldly. Just a person. It has endeared Varric to me, I'll admit." He squeezed her hands. "So when I heard him call you Butterfly, I couldn't help but be intrigued. So I did ask."

"What did he say?" She honestly hadn't thought about it.

"He said it was what you were," Solas explained. "He said it was as simple as that. He knows your past; he was there in Kirkwall." Varania shuddered at the memory. "He knew what you were and he sees what you've become. He said he did also consider Blossom but it was too passive. A butterfly has to fight its way out of the chrysalis. That's what you did."

She swallowed hard. She had no idea that was how Varric saw her. He was so flippant about everything.

"He's right, of course," Solas continued. "You fought. And you came out a unique and lovely creature on the other side. I couldn't think of a more apt name."

He lifted his hand and hooked his fingers under hers, unfolding her hand from around the leather package. He gestured with his head, and Varania complied, unfolding the flaps to find what was inside. Laying on the sueded leather was a bone pendant, oval shaped with a pattern of knotwork at the top spiraling down into a butterfly. It was strung on a simple leather cord with small metallic beads, one on either side of the pendant.

It was beautiful. Her eyes searched his face, her mouth hanging open just a little in surprise. Solas, for his part, looked utterly sincere.

"It's a piece of dragon bone," he said. "From the high dragon in the Hinterlands. And beads made from fragments broken from one of the Fade artifacts we've been activating." He smiled a little. "It took longer than I expected; its why I've been so scarce."

"I don't know what to say," she admitted. She was utterly at a loss. She assumed he'd just been caught up in his own work and his explorations of the Fade. He was so focused on his research and she never tried to compete with it. But instead, he'd been making this, spending what must have been many, many hours carving the steel hard bones into this delicate shape.

He didn't reply with words, instead taking the pendant from her hand and draping it around her neck, his dexterous fingers tying the leather thong behind her neck. He fluttered her hair over the band when he was done and took a half step back to look at her.

"Very beautiful," he said, his eyes on the pendant at first and then sliding up to meet her eyes. "Though not as much as you are, vhenan."

Without even thinking, she took his face into her hands and kissed him. His arms came up around her, pulling them together tightly. Her heart felt like a million butterflies in her in her chest, all trying to get free. She felt like she might float away.

"Ma serannas," she whispered against his lips. He made a small pleased sound in return and pulled her closer. He tucked his chin on her shoulder, her ear flat against his chest.

She felt better in this moment than she had in the entirety of the time since they'd returned from Halamshiral. Once, she told Solas he didn't have to be alone in his pain.

_She really needed to learn to take her own advice._

Cole. Varric. Solas. They cared about her; so did many others. They wanted her to be happy. She wanted a chance to be happy. Yet she'd told Fenris he could rip her heart out. Anything, just so he could be happy too. Even if it meant she had to lose her chance.

She didn't know how to reconcile that. Instead, she just let Solas hold her and listened to the comforting sound of his heart. Hers didn't make any sense. For now, his did.


	13. Here Lies....

Every muscle ached, every emotion was frayed and it felt like every inch of her skin was covered in blood.  Varania ran, but instead of away, she was running towards the dragon, towards Clarel.   It was utterly insane.  It was one thing to take a keep, to overwhelm the Grey Wardens and kill demons but another entirely to chase after a Tevinter Magister and Corypheus's pet archdemon.

But it had to be done.  It was why she was here and she did her best to not think about anything except exactly what was to come.

Behind her, her companions did their best to keep up with her, though she assumed they also realized how insane this all was.  Solas, Blackwall, Varric with Loghain as their rear guard followed close, all breathing hard except for Solas who seemed oddly exhilarated.  Though he never celebrated their victories like the others did, when they drank and cheered at the Herald's Rest, he always seemed so energized by battle.  It was a strange and sometimes distracting conundrum.  Hawke was supposed to be up ahead on the curtain wall waiting for them.  Varania heard Hawke's distinctive cursing up ahead.

They tore up the old crumbling stairs, lungs burning, eyes watering at the smoke and ash in the air.  At the top of the wall, she heard a demon scream as she rounded the corner.  The glowing amorphous form of a rage demon crackled as it backed a pair of Wardens into a corner.  One, a dark haired man, had a bow for a moment before he discarded it in favor of a pair of daggers.  He was graceful, but there was some hesitation in his fighting as if he wasn't used to melee.  His companion was a woman in unique black leather armor, though still emblazoned with the Warden's griffon on the pauldrons.  She fought with a sword, but was that a spell? A crackle of lightning hit the demon and Varania wasn't sure if it was from an enchanted blade or the woman herself.

So far, all the other Warden mages had been puppets of Erimond.  She hoped to Andraste it was just a really nice sword.

With the demon well distracted by the Wardens, Solas was able to easily hit the demon with an ice spell freezing it in place.  Varania followed with a stonefist, shattering it, chunks flying in all directions before disappearing back into the ether.  Without taking time to catch her breath, she made her way toward the two Wardens warily.  Many of the others had stood down, after Loghain had talked sense to them, but she couldn't be sure what would happen here.  

The man had fallen on to his knees and the women was at his side in an instant, the unmistakable rush of magic flowing from her fingers against a wound in his side where the demon hand clawed right through his leather, knitting it shut.  Despite the sudden pang of trepidation at the magic use, the healing spell did set her a bit at ease.  None of the bewitched Wardens had even attempted to protect their companions, not to mention healing.

There was a moments lull in the fighting around them.  Though there were still sounds of conflict in the distance, this section of the wall was empty except for the bodies of Wardens who were no longer going to be a problem.  Varania took the moment to breathe and made her way towards the two Wardens, hoping to find allies or at least some information of what was up ahead.

The woman looked up at her approach, her blue eyes wide in her pale face, streaked with blood.  When she turned her face to Varania, she opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.  She heard an strangled sound from behind her.  Varania glanced over her shoulder.  Loghain looked like he'd been stabbed, though he was uninjured.

" _Fucking Maker's Balls_."  Varania turned back as the female Warden spoke instead, apparently having found her voice.  

"I think we can safely assume they are not possessed," she heard Solas say behind her with probably an excess of sarcasm.  Blackwall only grunted.  He'd been suspiciously quiet ever since she insisted he join them.

The two Wardens managed to get to their feet as Hawke rounded the corner.  She was breathing hard, her wood staff actually smoking where cinders from her magic or a rage demon had hit it.  There was an artful smear of blood across the bridge of her nose, almost as if she'd put it there on purpose.  

"You made it," Hawke panted, putting her hand on to the woman's shoulder and pulling her into an embrace.  She hugged her fiercely.  "I'm glad to see you alive."

The Warden smiled for an instant but it disappeared quickly.  "I'm the not the only one to be unexpectedly alive." 

Hawke looked sheepish.  "Yeah, about that."

"I'm standing right here," Loghain said.  He did not sound thrilled, but Varania wasn't certain why.

"Yeah, that's pretty much the entire point."  Hawke said and cleared her throat.  She turned to Varania.  The look on her face was conflicted.  She seemed to be trying to push that down and instead, she put her arms around the two Wardens.  Clearly, they knew each other.  "Inquisitor Varania Lavellan," she continued, being surprisingly formal despite her casual stance. "Meet my cousin, Kya Amell, the Hero of Ferelden and Warden Nathaniel Howe."

"Hey there Mrs. Howe," Varric piped up. "How was the honeymoon?"  The female Warden, Kya, looked utterly undone.  

"Varric," she said tersely, shaking her head and still leaning against Hawke.  "It was too short and we had to kill people."

"Isn't that always the way?  Just ask Hawke."  Varric looked pleased with himself.  Varania felt a bit left in the dark by all these sudden entanglements.

"As interesting as this all is," Varania interrupted, anxious, "I think we have a dragon to deal with."

Hawke jerked a thumb over her shoulder.  "It flew past me when I was taking down a Pride demon, followed quickly by Erimond with Warden-Commander Clarel on his ass."

Varania did her best to gather her wits together.  She looked back at Solas and he gave her a little confident smile.  She grabbed hold of her best Inquisitor voice and continued.  

"Alright, then, ah," she turned to the two Wardens.  "Are you both well enough to join us?  We could use all the help we can get."

Kya looked over at Nathaniel first but then nodded.  "I've killed one archdemon," she said, her eyes flicking away from Varania's face and over her shoulder.  Varania followed her eyes to find her looking at Loghain. She continued, focused on him instead.  "I can kill another one, if needed."

"Right," Varania said, refusing to dig further into what that meant until there wasn't an army of demons and dragons and Maker knows what else ready to rain down on them.  "Let's go."

She led them down the wall, her strange crew of heroes and champions suddenly larger than she ever expected.  It was a bit overwhelming, to say the least, realizing who was behind her.  The Hero of River Dane and the Champion of Kirkwall had been odd enough, but now the Hero of Ferelden as well?  She tried not to think about it but they started to talk to each other and she couldn't avoid it.

"I thought you were dead," Kya said. Her voice was cold. 

"I honestly expected to be," Loghain replied.  His sounded sincere and equally cool.  "I think that experience, the one that drove me write you, is the only reason I didn't fall prey to this false Calling."  He made a strange noise through his nose.  "I have you to thank for my life again."

Kya grunted.  "If we survive this, I..."  She sounded like she was going to threaten him but then reconsidered.  "Andraste's fat ass," she sighed.  "I mourned for you."

"I mourned as well and I almost told Clarel to fuck herself and returned to Ferelden," he said.  The vulgarity seemed out of character, but Varania wasn't sure she knew him well enough to judge for certain.  "But then you married the Howe boy, as I hoped you would.  I moved on and we were both better off."  Loghain's voice was deadly cold now.  "We did what we had to."

"Maker, you weren't kidding about being an asshole, Mac Tir," Hawke piped up.  

Loghain barked a laugh.  "Important to know yourself."

"Fuck," someone muttered and Varania assumed it was Nathaniel, though he hadn't spoken until now.  "Would you all just shut up?"

"I hate to admit it, since this is all really juicy material," Varric snarked.  "But he's probably right.  Let's not get dead first.  But then I want all the details."

Kya groaned.  

They rounded the corner to find Clarel cornering Erimond on the ruins of a bridge that ran between two sections of the ancient fortress.  Now, it led to nowhere, effectively trapping the vile excuse for a mage between Clarel's anger and a wicked drop to the desert below.  She had an arcane shield blazing around her.  Erimond threw a ball of flames at her and it harmlessly bounced off.

"You! You destroyed the Grey Wardens!" she spat at him as she advanced.  She hit him with a ball of arcane stone and knocked him to the ground.  He rolled over on to his knees, chuckling weakly at her.

"You did that to yourself, you stupid bitch."  He looked up at her with contempt.  "All I had to do was dangle a little power in front of your eyes and you couldn't  _wait_  to get your hands bloody."

In reply, Clarel snarled fiercely and hit him with a bolt of lightning, throwing him back, bouncing helplessly against the ground.  Varania considered stepping in, but she felt no desire to protect him or Clarel for that matter.  They were both mad as cats.  If they killed each other, it was one less mess she had to clean up.

Erimond was in a ball, twitching against the after effects of Clarel's spell.  "You could have served a new god," he whimpered.

"I will never serve the Blight!" Clarel spat at him.  

"Clarel," Loghain shouted from behind Varania.  Clarel's head whipped around to look at them.  "We need to...."

He didn't finish his thought before the dragon swooped down from above and grabbed Clarel as it bounded back into the air, whipping it's horrific head back and forth and landing on the ruin behind them, dropping Clarel's body like a doll.  It shrieked at them as it crept toward them, stalking over Clarel's broken body, trapping Varania and her companions between it and the bridge.

Varania raised her staff and felt the familiar wash of Solas's barrier spell come over her.  She heard Clarel's ragged voice, amazingly still alive.

"In War, Victory."  Clarel's voice was an eerie, hollow sound.  "In Peace, Vigilance.  In Death...."

"Oh Maker, no!"  She heard Kya shout and she rushed forward, Nathaniel on her heels.  But if she'd thought to stop Clarel, it was too late.  A burst of energy shot out of her into the soft underbelly of the dragon and it screamed in horror, hitting her with its strange red lyrium fire, narrowly missing Amell as it took flight away from the source of the pain.  The combined forces of Clarel's spell and the dragon's breath made the stones of the bridge start to shake and crumble beneath their feet.  

"Run!" Varania screamed, trying to get them off the bridge before it collapsed underneath them.  

She heard Kya scream. "LOGHAIN!"

Varania turned to find him suddenly dangling over the edge.  Without a moments consideration, Varania ran back, grabbing his hand and with Solas and Blackwall beside her, helped to drag Loghain back onto the bridge before they all started to run again.  Hawke was just in front of her with Varric at her side.

"Come on!" Hawke's voice tore through the din but it was too late as the supports under the bridge gave way and they began to fall.  By instinct, the anchor flared on Varania's hand, a rift in the veil tearing open beneath them.  As the green glow enfolded them, she heard Kya's voice one last time screaming with visceral horror over all the other sounds; over the rush of the tearing veil and the cracking stones and the dragon shrieking in the distance.

"Loghain!" Kya's voice wailed out over everything else but then was swallowed by the throbbing, black silence of the Fade.


	14. ...the Abyss

The Fade was green.

It was also slightly insubstantial and gravity didn't work right.  It made Varania feel nauseated.  She had this nagging feeling of deja vu from the moment the rift closed behind them, but it wasn't until she started to gather her lost memories that she realized why.

She really had been here before.

As they walked, they found relics, strange reminders of how the Fade was crafted from the fears and the joys of mortals.  Letters, notes, journals.  One after another, they recorded the fears of dreamers, the lost and the dead.

Solas was greatly intrigued by these, as he was by the entire experience.  She wanted him to guide them, but he admitted he'd never seen this part of the Fade before, nor had he physically been to the Fade.

"This is a place created by many fears," he explained.  "Not just a single dreamer.  Who's to say how we will affect it?  Not even I know this."  His voice had an edge of bitterness to it, so she dropped it.  She couldn't help but want to understand, but now was exactly not the time.

They needed to get out of here and fast, before their presence managed to create something worse than the Blight.  So instead, they followed the Divine, or the thing that looked like her.  Whatever she was, she was their best bet for getting out of here.

The nightmare demon shouted at them, trying to pry at their fears.  She saw how it reached to the core of each of them by the haunted look in their eyes as each had their turn on the block.

Varric and Hawke hung close together, seeming to get comfort from their familiarity.  Blackwall stood back, silent and pale as a corpse under his tanned skin.  Loghain was stoic as ever, snapping back at the demon in kind.

"That's all you've got?" he shouted into the air as it taunted him for his failures.  "Nothing I haven't said to myself."

The disembodied voice laughed coldly, the sound echoing off the black jagged rocks.

_"You killed her. She's here.  With us."_

Loghain stopped cold.  There was a pedestal of black glassy stone in front of them with a piece of curled paper on it.  Beside it, sat a tea cup.  It looked Orlesian, with pale flowers and a gold rim, but worn thin to the china in spots.  Steam rose from it, but it wasn't comforting.  It looked more like tendrils of some toxic plant than steam.

Loghain looked at Varania instead of moving; it was almost as if he couldn't move.  She reached for the letter instead and curled her fingers around it.  She felt Solas come up beside her to look, unable to resist his curiosity.  Loghain looked away.

_"We arrived at the Temple of Sacred Ashes right after sunset and barely in time.  The talks are to begin on the morrow.  I asked to speak with the Divine ahead of schedule, but those Templars are really not kidding around._ _I only hope I can be up to this task and that I don't make things worse with my temper."_

There was a little smudge on the paper there, and Varania brushed at it.  It left a little smear of black ink on the tip of her finger as she continued to read aloud.

_"Mostly, I hope I can survive this with some semblance of my freedom still intact.  I need to find that cranky old Grey Warden again and remind us both there are things worth living for, not just worth dying for."_

Loghain made a strangled sound.

"Please stop."

Varania looked up at him and swallowed the sudden lump in her throat.  His cool veneer had slipped.  The raw emotion in his voice was so intense she could feel it herself.  She offered him the letter but he waved it away.

"This fucking demon," he swore, uncharacteristically, "Has had enough from me already."

Varania folded the letter carefully and stuck it into a pouch at her waist.  She didn't know if it would still be real outside the Fade, but it seemed worth keeping, just in case.

The Nightmare's laugh echoed again.

It seemed to sense that it had wrenched all it could from Loghain as they started to move again, instead, turning it's gaze to Solas.  It spoke in elven, with archaic words.  Varania didn't understand enough to follow what it said.

"Dirth ma, Harellan. Ma banal ensalin. Mar solas ena mar din?"

There were only a few words she understood.   _Traitor. Inevitable. Pride._ Solas replied with almost no emotion, though she saw a flicker of it across his face.

"Banal nadas," he snapped at it.

Those words she knew.   _Nothing is inevitable._

She didn't have time to ask for a real translation before another wave of demons came at them.  Varric and Hawke said they saw spiders.  For Varania, they were snarling beasts, canine but indeterminate between wolves and coyotes and foxes.  They were ragged, rabid and had otherworldly red eyes, as many as any spider.

_She wasn't afraid of wolves.  She didn't understand._

They battled on through the disjointed landscape, through things that shouldn't exist until they came upon a graveyard, with stones that held her companion's names.  That was what finally chilled her to the bone.

_Cole: Despair_

_Sera: Nothing_

_Dorian: Temptation_

_Cassandra: Helplessness_

_Varric: Become his parents_

_Vivienne: Irrelevance_

_Iron Bull: Madness_

_Blackwall: Himself_

_Loghain: Failure_

_Hawke: Loss_

_Solas: Dying alone_

_Varania: Fail her Master_

She stared at them blankly until Solas finally pulled her away.  Their fears.  Their worst, most heartbreaking fears.

_she wasn't afraid of being a slave only of being a bad one  Maker how had she fallen so low?_

"Vhenan," Solas whispered, his grip firm around her upper arm.  "Do not let it defeat you.  You are stronger than this fear."  He squeezed her arm.  She nodded at him, taking a breath and forcing herself to look away.

Instead, they forged ahead, the not real water making her boots a very real soggy mess.  They fought another mystifying round of demons who were oddly easier to defeat in the Fade than they seemed beyond it, as if they just gave up instead of suffering an actual death.  The rest of her memories came flooding back as the last demon fell.

Varania's mouth dropped open.

"It was you."  The facsimile of the Divine frowned.

"Yes."

"It was you behind me in the rift."

"Yes."

"And then, you...died."

"Yes."

"We've been following a demon," Loghain said, sounding utterly done with the entire experience.  

"You don't say?" Hawke's reply was not kind.  They'd started snapping at each other as the stress increased, until Varania wasn't sure they'd be at each other's throats next.

But spirit or demon or Divine, she was there to help them.  There were no other options.  They followed until the rift finally stretched out in front of them, like a glowing green tear; not so unlike the anchor on the palm of her hand.  But in front of the rift, a beast unlike anything she had ever seen blocked their path.  It was like a spider, if a spider was the most horrible thing to ever exist with a hundred legs and a thousand beady, all seeing eyes.

"You must go through the rift and slam it behind you as hard as you can.  That will sever the demon's hold and set you free!" The glowing apparition that was once the Divine instructed her.  "And please, tell Leliana,  _I am sorry I failed you too_."

The spirit flung herself at the beast and in a flash of light, it retreated.  Varania could still feel it, still feel the fear of the Nightmare all around them, but all that was left were more of those wolfbeasts and a phantom of a sort, all of which she'd battled before, and defeated.

They fought.  Spell sizzled through the air, the ringing sound of steel from Loghain and Blackwall's swords, the distinctive twang of Biana's string as Varric shot bolt after bolt into the demon's undulating bodies.  One by one, the horrors fell and it seemed for a while like they might actually get through this intact.

As the last beast fell, Varania screamed for the others to run and she didn't blame them for not hesitating.  Varric and Blackwall sprinted through the rift, followed quickly by Solas who did give her and the the Fade a last look before he went.

"Come on," she shouted at Loghain and Hawke, just in time for the Nightmare spider form to return and insert itself between them and the rift again.  They scrambled back out of the reach of it's claws.

"Go," Hawke shouted, magic crackling anew at the end of her staff.  "I'll hold it off."

"No," Loghain immediately argued.  "You were right, the Grey Wardens caused this, a Grey Warden should..."

"Help them rebuild," Hawke interrupted.  "Corypheus is my fault, its only..."

"No," Loghain said again.  "Inquisitor."  He was pleading with her.

Varania's soul dropped into her feet.  Someone needed to distract it or they'd all die here.  She had to make it through; only she could close the rift and only from the other side.  

She had to choose.

Fenris's voice rang in her head.

_"Please take care of Hawke.  She doesn't...she's willing to throw herself in front of things to save people she cares about."_

_"I won't let her die for me,"_  Varania had promised him.  _"No matter what comes."_

She saw Fenris's face, both angry and sad.  Varric.  She saw baby Bethany's eyes.  She couldn't let a little girl's mother die.  Loghain's daughter was an adult, and apparently already thought he was dead.

And he was willing.

There was only one choice to be made.

"Loghain."

"One last request, Inquisitor," he said, though his voice had an edge of relief in it.  He pulled a package out of his pocket, a little drawstring pouch, and laid in into Varania's hand before reaching for his sword again.  "Please, give this to Amell with my regrets.  She'll understand."  He turned away towards the Nightmare, assessing it before give Varania a last look.  "It's been an honor, Inquisitor.  May the Maker watch over you."  

With an astonishingly grateful smile, Loghain charged the Nightmare.  Varania and Hawke ran, and in the chaos, made it to the rift.  Hawke slipped through and disappeared.  Varania looked back and saw Loghain thrust his sword up into the belly of the Nightmare before one of its innumerable legs threw him backwards, his sword clattering loose to the ground.  

She couldn't save him and everyone else.  

Varania stepped through the rift and closed it behind her to thunderous applause.  Her mouth felt like it was full of sand.

"Hawke!" she heard Varric's voice.  "You lived."

"Where's Loghain?" this voice, less familiar but still recognizable.  Kya Amell was looking at her expectantly, with Nathaniel as her side, his face still as a stone.  Varania could only shake her head but Amell read her meaning.

"Maker," she whispered.  "No."  

Varania held out the pouch to her.  "Loghain, he wanted me to give you his regrets," she said.  "He stayed behind to save us.  He gave his life for us."  Varania took a deep breath.  Amell was white as snow, her eyes bloodshot as she stared blankly.  "He wanted you to have this."

Amell took the pouch and quickly emptied the contents into the palm of her hand.  She made a sound, almost a whimper.  It was a braid of hair, black and threaded with grey, tied on the end with a red thread.  Loghain's hair, from the looks of it.  Amell closed her hand around it and looked up at Varania.  Her eyes were damp, but she didn't cry, only the paleness of her skin and two red spots high on her cheeks betraying her.

"Thank you," she said, but didn't seem able to continue.

"What now?" one of the surviving Warden's asked from behind his helmet.  "Clarel is dead, and...we are...."

"We still hear the Calling," Nathaniel finished for him.  Amell didn't comment, but her knuckles were white where she gripped the braid in her hand.

"Then once you are fit to travel," Varania said, making yet another decision she didn't want to make.  "Then you need to go to Weisshaupt.  You are vulnerable to Corypheus and until he's defeated, I can't risk this happening again."

Nathaniel nodded.  "We'll lead them there, once we are well and resupplied."

"Come to Skyhold then," Varania offered.  It was only fair that she could offer them something, after all of this.  "I will make sure you have everything you need and perhaps, we can have a memorial for Loghain and the other Wardens lost here today."

Amell only nodded and turned away.  

"What about me?" Blackwall asked.  Varania frowned at him.  He'd not seemed affected by the Calling; he was so steadfast, she couldn't imagine any reason he needed to go.

"You've given us no reason to doubt your loyalty, Blackwall.  If you want to stay?"

He nodded, perhaps too quickly.  "Yes, thank you Inquisitor."

They all started to pick up the pieces then.  The aftermath of a battle was always like this.  Too many things to do and a strange awkwardness to it all.  Varania put her face into her hands.  

"You made the right choice," Solas's voice said as he came and stood beside her.  He folded his hands behind his back.  

"Did I?"  she asked him.  "I left Loghain to die in there and he was my friend."

"He will not be the last to die, before this is over."

"I know, but that doesn't make it easier."  Varania felt the weight of the Inquisition pressing down of her.  She straightened her back.  She had to bear it, to whatever end. 

"Loghain found a good end, likely as he would have wanted.  Assuming he did die, though we cannot be sure."  Solas cocked his head.  "The Fade is, if nothing else, unpredictable.  But either way, his sacrifice was honorable and I expect many will think it very noble."

Varania sighed.  Solas was right. "He seemed like a noble man."

"Many spirits agree with you; many do not.  May we all have enough of an impact upon the world that both men and spirits argue about us someday."  Solas smiled enigmatically and she couldn't help but wonder at his meaning.  

"I wonder what they'll say about me," she pondered aloud.

"It would be fascinating and painful to hear, I assure you."

He sounded very certain of that.  She marveled at his seemingly never ending font of wisdom.  At the moment, Varania was only certain of one thing; that she never wanted to see the inside of the Fade again.


	15. Songs for the Fallen

 

 

_"O Maker, hear my cry:_

_Guide me through the blackest nights_

_Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked_

_Make me to rest in the warmest places._

_O Creator, see me kneel:_

_For I walk only where You would bid me_

_Stand only in places You have blessed_

_Sing only the words You place in my throat_

_My Maker, know my heart_

_Take from me a life of sorrow_

_Lift me from a world of pain_

_Judge me worthy of Your endless pride_

_My Creator, judge me whole:_

_Find me well within Your grace_

_Touch me with fire that I be cleansed_

_Tell me I have sung to Your approval_

_O Maker, hear my cry:_

_Seat me by Your side in death_

_Make me one within Your glory_

_And let the world once more see Your favor_

_For You are the fire at the heart of the world"_

 

The chanter's voice rang out through the courtyard.  There wasn't enough room inside the keep, so they gathered in the lower courtyard; Inquisition, Chantry, Dalish, Orlesian soldiers, Ferelden mercenaries, Grey Wardens.  Despite everyone's best efforts, they were still separate entities, different species who bristled at each other like dogs about to fight.  But tonight they were one in their grief.

It was just past sunset, the courtyard lit with fires and torches.  Mother Giselle, Leliana, Cassandra, Cullen; they all stood by as the Chanter prayed, singing from Transfigurations.  They were solemn and still on the landing, in the same place Leliana handed Varania a sword and named her Inquisitor.  Then the mood had been hopeful and vibrant.  Now it was somber and determined instead.

Varania stood at the base of the stairs, waiting.  She would be expected to say her own words, ofter her own condolences.  It would have been hard before, when Loghain was just a Grey Warden with a hazy past the others whispered about.  but he became her friend and gave her good advice when there was no one else she could talk to.  Without knowing anything else about him, it would have been hard to honor him properly for giving his life to save her.  Knowing what she did now, it felt impossible.   

That letter, addressed to Loghain in spidery script somehow stayed real out of the Fade. It was intended to hurt him.  She understood why now.

" _Mostly, I hope I can survive this with some semblance of my freedom still intact.  I need to find that cranky old Grey Warden again and remind us both there are things worth living for, not just worth dying for."_

It was written by a woman, Adrian, a mage from the White Spire in Val Royeaux.  She asked Vivienne about her, who said yes, she remembered her and then rolled her eyes.

_A libertarian._  Vivienne explained.   _With more temper than sense.  She is the very epitome of why mages need be feared, or she was anyway._

Vivienne didn't have much patience for the idea of mage freedom.  Varania never had an opinion before.  Tevinter was different; mages were free, powerful and utterly corrupt.  The south was different.  Mages here were different.  She still didn't know what to think.

_"When I came to Montsimmard, still pretending to be a First Enchanter, to see the Wardens and try to ally with them, I did not expect to fall in love.  I never expected anything could keep my attention, other than my cause, but it is the first thing I have ever done that feels truly worthwhile._

_I still want to be free.  I just didn't know what that meant before."_

Varania understood this woman's words in the deepest part of herself.  She still wasn't sure she understood what it meant to be free, but love felt a lot like she thought it might.  Varania had power as the Inquisitor, as much as this woman had at least as a leader among the Circle Mages, but it wasn't freedom.  Not really.

" _For now,"_  the letter concluded.  _"I just pray that I'll live long enough to see him again."_

She hadn't.  And neither had he. Adrian died at the conclave with so many others.  It put a face on it, one more real somehow than the Divine.  Justinia was a symbol, more than a woman to most.  Adrian was a real live person who had really fallen in love with another real live person and died without seeing him again.

Cole said she wanted blood, but Cole wasn't good at subtlety.  He only saw the strongest emotions and the broken parts.  He also only knew her before she knew love.  Varania knew that was something that changed a person, even if you didn't mean it to.

She hoped Cole would learn to see the unbroken parts too.  Making those stronger would soothe more hurts than making people forget.  Of that, she was certain.

Varania didn't know most of the people who'd died for the Inquisition.  She tried certainly; she'd gone with Iron Bull incognito, she'd gone drinking at the Herald's Rest, she walked through the courtyard, the barracks, the kitchens. But there were too many; too many names, too many faces.

But one night, Loghain talked to her and gave her hope.  She never had a chance to thank him.  

There was more.

There was always more.

_I wish I'd never seen him. I wish I hadn't._  Kya Amell's voice carried when she spoke to Hawke.

_You don't mean that._ Hawke replied.

_Yes I do.  I mourned him once already.  And now its hurting both me and Nathaniel.  Again._

The Hero of Ferelden was a real person too.  As real as Hawke or Varania,  as real as anyone, even if she was spoken about like she was a statue.  Varania could feel Amell's eyes on her, feel her grief.  There were whispers, stories.  If they were true...Varania tried not to let herself dwell.  It was too much.

Except for her mother and her brother, she'd never allowed herself the luxury of attachments before.  The Dalish thought her cold, and she didn't blame them.  Her heart wasn't something she shared before.  It was too dangerous.  

Solas stood at her side, silent.  His hands were folded behind his back as she looked at him; at the arch of his brows, long sleek length of his nose, the soft curves of his mouth and the cleft in his chin.  He didn't look at her, but his presence comforted her.  That frightened her.  

The Inquisition,  _Solas,_  they forced her to change.  She opened her heart to them almost by accident.  Seeing Amell, reading that letter?  Varania's fingers drifted across her pendant, at the knots and the butterfly Solas had so carefully carved from the dragon's rib bone.  It protected the dragon's heart once and she hope it protected hers now.  

What would Solas think when she spoke the Dalish words for the dead?  He said the Dalish had everything wrong.  Maybe this was wrong too, but these words had brought her comfort in a way the Chant of Light never had.  

She wasn't really Dalish, but maybe that didn't matter.  None of it really mattered, except they way it made people feel.  Did it bring comfort or pain? There was no way to sure.  Her heart fluttered like butterfly wings in her chest.

Varania ascended the stairs slowly, the courtyard a twisting bramble of hushed sounds.  At the top, she turned slowly, immediately spotting a group in the midst of the throng.  Hawke and Amell were unmistakable with their pale red hair and pink skin.  Fenris stood beside them with his face impassive and his daughter on his hip.  

It was Amell's face that held her.  Though her fingers were wrapped in her husband's hand beside her, she looked utterly broken.

_I mourned him once before._

Varania's eyes turned to Solas again, hoping to find something there to help her.  He met her gaze and smiled faintly enough that only she could see it.  He nodded, ever so slightly.

Varania took a deep breath.  

"We are here to honor the sacrifices of our fallen.  Those loyal to the Inquisition, those Grey Wardens falsely led into destruction by Corypheus."  Her voice rang out with more confidence than she expected.  "We give special honor to Warden Loghain Mac Tir, the Hero of River Dane and once Teyrn of Gwaren who sacrificed himself to allow us to close the rift.  That selfless act prevented our enemy from marching a demon army across Orlais."

There was a smattering of applause.  

"It is my honor to offer Dalish prayers for the dead."

Varania lowered her voice into the sing-song chant she'd been taught.  

_"O Falon'Din_

_Lethanavir--Friend to the Dead_

_Guide my feet, calm my soul,_

_Lead me to my rest._ "

 

She thought about Loghain.  About her mother.  About her life before, her life in between.  

 

_"The People swore their lives to Falon'Din_

_Who mastered the dark that lies._

_Whose shadows hunger."_

 

She looked at Amell, at her pained blue eyes, at her wan face, her distraught husband.  She looked at Fenris, watching her with quiet intensity.  She looked at Solas, enigmatic and unknowable, no matter how much she loved him.

 

_"Whose faithful sing_

_Whose wings of death surround him_

_Thick as night."_

 

She struggled to keep her composure.  She would fight, she would do whatever she must to save the world, but in the end, no one would survive except memories. 

What would they sing about her someday?

 

_"Lethanavir, master-scryer, be our guide,_

_Through shapeless worlds and airless skies."_

 

Leliana came up behind her, a soft hand on her shoulder. She must have heard Varania's voice break at the end.  She began to speak then, letting Varania fall silent.   Her heart was still thrumming hard; her throat tight.

"I learned a song long ago," Leliana said.  "One I have come to love much.  I sang it once for our honored guest here, Kya Amell, the Hero of Ferelden.  It is an elven song, a song of loss and mourning. I feel it is only fitting that I offer it to you."

Leliana's voice was pure and clean.  Sometimes Varania forgot that being a Bard was more than spying, more than deception.  They used their songs and stories to hide behind, and they only worked when they were blinding.

The hair stood on the back of Varania's neck as Leliana sang.

 

_"Hahren na melana sahlin._

_Emma ir abelas._

_Souver'inan isala hamin,_

_vhenan him dor'felas;_

_In uthenera na revas."_

 

Elder your time is come.

Now I am filled with sorrow.

Weary eyes need resting,

heart has become grey and slow;

In waking sleep is freedom.

 

The world was never going to be the same.  It never was from one minute to the next.  All they could hope for was that their choices, the decisions that set the direction of things to come were the right ones.  There were innumerable branches and paths to take.  Varania desperately hoped the direction she was steering them in did not lead to ruin.

 

_"Vir sulahn'nehn._

_Vir dirthera._

_Vir samahl la numin._

_Vir lath sa'vunin."_

 

We sing, rejoice.

We tell the tales.

We laugh and cry.

We love one more day.

 

And what more could they do really?  Tears ran unbidden down her face, but she was not alone.Even Solas looked stricken, though he'd not shown much emotion before.  He said death was part of life.  Though he couldn't say what happened to our spirits, he knew that our strongest memories live on in the Fade.  He said that was our legacy as mortals.  That was how we never died.

Yet in the Fade, she saw his deepest fear.  Etched on a tombstone in stark relief;  _Dying Alone._ Everyone died alone, didn't they?  And if spirits didn't go through the Fade to join the Maker and they were separated from the elven gods, from the old gods, where did they go?  Did they simply wander, alone in the void, echoes of memories all that was left to mark their passing?

Varania shuddered.  All they had was now.  She needed to make it matter.

_Vir Dirthera._ We tell the tales.

What tales would they tell of today?


	16. In the Blood

Varania found a quiet spot and tried to pretend she was alone.

There was no being alone in Skyhold.  No matter where anyone went, there was always someone else just around the corner.  Everyone knew everything.  In the garden, people tried to leave someone who looked like they wanted solitude alone.   But Varania couldn't help but listen, the voices weaving in and out of notice.  A book lay open in her lap, but she wasn't reading it.

"I know Mother," Kieran's voice said softly.  "But I want to ask her anyway.  I know why you didn't tell me he was my father before, but I want to know who he was."  He cocked his head, his dark hair falling across his forehead just as Varania looked up at him.  "You said he was a good man, but I don't know what that means."

"Kieran," Morrigan's tone was exasperated.  "Perhaps I should not have told you.  I did not-"

"But you did," he interrupted her.  "I want to know.   _Please_  mother."

Morrigan seemed to be fighting to deny him whatever he was asking, but he plead with her, his uniquely shaped brown eyes tugging at her.  Her shoulders slumped.

"As you wish," she acquiesced.  "I will ask Amell if she will speak with you, but I cannot guarantee she will be willing to discuss this now."  Morrigan looked pointedly over at Varania, as if she realized she was being overheard.

"Inquisitor, would you mind keeping my son out of trouble until I return?  I-" she paused.  Hesitated.  "I need speak with Warden Amell for a moment."

Varania didn't bother to hide that she'd been listening.  "Of course."  She smiled at Kieran and patted the bench next to her.  He nodded but turned his head to watch his mother go, his profile to Varania.

He looked much like Morrigan, with her high cheekbones and the sleek angle of his jaw, even with its youthful softness.  But his profile revealed more, the hawkish shape of his nose, his chin, the shape of his brow.. _._

_I know why you didn't tell me he was my father before._

Maker...she didn't need to ask who his father was now.  His face made it abundantly clear.

_Loghain._

Kieran turned his face back to Varania and the stark resemblance disappeared into Morrigan's face again, but with the round cheeks and proportions of a child.  He came and sat beside her without complaint.

"Hello Inquisitor," he said, ever polite.

"Hello Kieran," she said.  Varania wasn't sure if she should talk to him like a child or something else.  His voice was so young, but Kieran's eyes had old wisdom in them.  "How are you?"

"I'm sad."  It was a matter-of-fact statement.  He didn't elaborate.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Varania sighed. "A lot of us are sad right now."

He looked up at her expectantly.  "Is it because Loghain died?"  

She nodded.  "Yes, and many others."

"Did you know him too?" he asked.  His voice pitch got even higher.

"A bit," Varania said.  "Not well, but he was kind to me.  He will be missed."

Kieran made a little huff and his shoulders slumped just as Morrigan's had but it seemed uncharacteristic.  He always held himself so regally.  

"I wish I'd gotten to meet him," he said softly, almost a whisper.  "I'm not supposed to tell anyone, but mother says he was my father and that...seems right."

Varania wasn't entirely sure how to continue.  It was one thing to see the resemblance, and another entirely to hear the actual words that confirmed it.  "I didn't know that."

"No one does."  Kieran looked up at her.  "But I can trust you."  Varania realized she looked puzzled because he shrugged fluidly before he continued.  "I know things sometimes."

She smiled without considering it.  "I can tell you what I know, what little there is, if you'd like."

He nodded.  "Yes, please."

Varania closed the book in her lap and set it to the side.  She intentionally turned towards Kieran, one arm on the back of the bench behind his shoulders.  

"Loghain was very dedicated," she said.  "Willing to fight for what he thought was right, even if it was dangerous."  The Wardens were chasing him the entire time she'd known him.  They would have killed him, had he given them the chance.  "But he was also able to be soft spoken and very kind when the situation needed it.  He helped me when I was hurting and sad.  He gave me good advice and some comfort when I needed it."  She took a deep breath.  Her chest felt tight, reminding her how she felt when she spoke to Falon'Din on Loghain's behalf.  "I'm going to miss him, though I only knew him for a short time."

Kieran's head was cocked as he listened, rapt.  It was almost like he was listening through her words, checking for truth.  He gave her the impression that he was very good at ferreting out truth from lies.  She wondered how Morrigan had kept this from him for so long.

"I know there's this entire big history he had," she continued.  "But I'm not really the one to tell that story."

"That's all right," he said.  "Mother can tell me that.  A book could too.  I want to know what's not in the books.  That's the important part."

"Sometimes," she said quickly.  She picked her book back up and patted the cover.  "There's important things in here too, as long as you remember its just someone telling you a story, no matter what the cover claims."

He puzzled that out for a moment and then a smile spread across his face.  "I like you," he decided.  "You're wise."

Varania laughed.  "Hardly.  I feel like I don't know anything."

"That's why you're-"  He didn't finished his sentence before a familiar voice appeared at the edge of hearing.

"I still can't believe you named your son after my mabari, Morri," Amell said.

Morrigan's shrug was so much like Kieran's it gave Varania goosebumps.  "He was a noble creature."

"He put dead rabbits in your underwear."  Amell smirked and Morrigan mirrored her expression.  

"It will probably be good for both of us to talk about it, about him," Amell continued as she smoothly changed the subject, the jovial tone evaporating from her voice.  "There's no one else who wants to hear it."  Her face looked sour. 

Morrigan looked surprisingly empathetic.  "Men do not like being reminded they are not the only lover a woman has ever had."  She shook her head.  "Nathaniel will get over it.  He is just jealous; he loves you.  'Tis obvious for anyone to see."

"I know," Amell sighed.  "It's still frustrating."  She caught sight of them then, Varania and Kieran side by side on the bench.  Kieran was still looking at Varania and she saw his profile.  Amell's eyes went wide.  "That must be him."  She wasn't really asking.

Morrigan nodded.  "Kieran?"  His head turned to her.  "The Warden has agreed to speak with you."

"Call me Kya," Amell said, shaking her head at Morrigan.  "I'm hardly  _The Warden_  these days.  Just Kya."

Varania stood and offered her seat to Amell.  A part of her wanted to stay and hear their conversation.  She was probably half as curious as Kieran was about Loghain, but she couldn't think of an actual reason to be there.  She excused herself, carefully moving far enough away so she wouldn't be able to hear them.  

She couldn't help but look back over her shoulder at them.  Kya sat beside Kieran and gently touched his face, finger running over the ridge of his nose.  She tried to smile but it collapsed and her shoulders trembled.  She said something to him that Varania couldn't hear.  Kieran looked sad for a moment and then Kya hugged him.  

They both were crying.  Varania looked away.

She made her way into the nook between Morrigan's storage room and the shrine to Andraste.  There were more benches in there with a clear view of the sky above.  Better yet, the walls would block her view of Kya and Kieran.

Usually the nook had a few people inside, using the muffled silence to read or just stare up into the clouds.  Today wasn't so different though there was only one.  Because the Maker had a terrible sense of humor and apparently she hadn't been emotionally compromised enough for one day, the person sharing the nook with her was Fenris.

He looked up at her, his green eyes wide.  "I was waiting for you."  No coincidence then.  

Varania swallowed and tried to look nonchalant, picking a seat near enough to speak without shouting, but far enough away so he couldn't just reach out and put his lyrium fist through her ribs.  

"Here I am."  Her voice was entirely more strained than she intended.  She suddenly wished Solas was there with her.

Fenris struggled to meet her eyes.  He looked like he wanted to fidget, but he was too proud to do it.  Finally he looked up at her and spoke, his voice low.  "I was wrong about you."

Of all the things she expected he might say, that he'd say that had never even crossed her mind.  She expected he would be grateful that Hawke was alive, but she was certain she'd never heard Fenris or Leto ever admit he was wrong about anything before in her life.  

"How so?" she managed to squeak out.  She had to hear this.

His jaw clenched and unclenched.  "You know I'm not good at this."

She chuckled and it diffused some of her tension.  "I know."

He tried again.  "I wanted to hate you."  He snorted.  "I didn't want to hate you.  I don't know what I wanted.  But I wanted to be  _right_ ; I wanted it to be righteous that I was carrying around all this anger.  You betrayed me.  It couldn't possibly have been my fault."

"It wasn-" She started and he cut her off.

"It was, in part." He sighed.  "It was easier to think I'd lost everything.  I even tried to walk away from Hawke.  But I couldn't do it.  I was weak."

"You love her," Varania said, finally managing to get a word in.  "That's not weak."

"I know that now."  He actually smiled.  "Its taken a lot of stamina to love Hawke."  

Varania couldn't help but smirk at his phrasing.  She spent too much time with Iron Bull and Dorian and Sera.

Fenris was nonplussed.  "She is a difficult woman.  But she's the most important thing that has ever happened to me."  He let out a breath through his nose.  "I saw your face during the memorial.  Warden Loghain had become your friend, but I kept Hawke away from you.  You hardly knew her.  Yet you-" He fumbled for words.  "She told me what happened."

Varania wished she could just tell him it was his words that swayed her.  They played a part in that decision, but it was hardly the only thing she'd considered.  Now, she was just Varania, but in the Fade, she had to be The Inquisitor.  It was like uncomfortable armor and she had to move as the joints allowed.  Leaving Loghain to cover their escape, the elder warrior, the broken man with the tactical genius...it was logical, not just sentimental.  

He seemed to read that on her face, though she didn't speak.  "I know it wasn't for me," he said.  "I know what Hawke has had to do as the Champion.  But I'm grateful, nonetheless."  He looked away and pondered as he paused, then turned back to face her.  "You made a choice and it was the right one, for a lot of reasons.  I...I thought you only made decisions for yourself."

"I used to," she admitted.  "I didn't have anyone else to choose for, except you.  I really thought-"  Now she struggled.  She was terrified of her brother, probably for good reason.  But she'd fought far more frightening battles than this before.  She scooted closer and held out her hand to him.  "I really thought that freedom was just painful.  I thought if I was suffering you must be suffering too.  I thought I was helping you."

Fenris stared at her hand.  There was a long, awkward moment of silence but then he moved forward and put his palm against hers, let her fingers wrap around his hand.  He swallowed hard enough that Varania saw his throat move under the tendrils of lyrium.  The vallaslin she'd insisted on adding to her own neck was nearly identical.  Though she was fair where he was dark, when she looked up at him, she saw her own face reflected there; the same nose with the tip down turned, the square jawline, the jade colored eyes.

"I can't forget what happened but I also have started to remember what was before," Fenris said.  He squeezed his fingers around her hand, each long brown finger scarred with a line of pale blue lyrium. "I-." He swallowed.

"Leto," Varania said softly.  She didn't correct herself to using the name Danarius gave him, the name he chose to keep in protest.  "Leto, you don't have to."

"I do," he muttered.  "For me."  He was staring at their entwined hands.  Varania wondered what he saw, if he remembered before when they would walk together as children, the comments from the other slaves how they were such an odd pair of twins.  The same face, the same hair but one pale as the moon and the other dark as if browned by the sun.  They were always too different; too the same.  They fought constantly. They hated each other. They loved each other more.

It hadn't changed, even with slavery and death and betrayal looming between them.

"I forgive you Varania," he said finally, his voice strangled.  Tears pricked Varania's eyes and she couldn't speak.  It was as if she couldn't find enough air to make the words come out.  Before she could compose herself, he continued.  "We're leaving tomorrow.  With the Grey Wardens."  He looked up at her, his eyes wide and glassy.  "I don't know if we'll ever come back."

"Oh, Maker," she blurted out.  It was right for so many reasons.  Though the Wardens had Kya Amell and Nathaniel Howe to guide them to Weisshaupt, they were Wardens too, tainted by the Blight and just as susceptible to Corypheus if he tried again.  If Hawke and Fenris went with them, untainted as they were, they could see if the corruption was beginning again.  They could be the voice of reason, keep them moving even if the Calling returned and the voices sang.  But why did it have to be now?  Why did she get her brother back, her only piece of family still left only to lose him again?  "Leto, I-" Her voice was choked.  "Please, be safe."

Fenris nodded, making no attempt to correct her using the wrong name; the right name.  "Of course. I have Hawke and Bethany to worry about now.  I don't take chances with them."  He squeezed her hand again.  "The Anderfels are bleak from what I hear, but they are also the safest place in Thedas right now."

"I understand," she said, wiping at her eyes.  "It will just be strange to miss you now, instead of just...imagining how much you hate me."

The corner of his mouth turned up.  "I can take it back."  

Varania smiled but a sob came out at the same time.  "Fenhedis lasa," she swore.  "I know you don't remember, but you are still the same."

"That's comforting to hear," he admitted.  "I like that Danarius didn't take that from me, even if I-"  He trailed off.

That was a wound that would never heal.  The wounds of what happened to them in Tevinter would scar them as long as they lived, no matter how much they tried to let them go.  Leaving for the Anderfels, getting so far away, maybe that was a the best balm for his soul. And those green eyes of his baby daughter would be there to remind him that there were beautiful things in the world despite all the ugliness.  Knowing he was safe, that his daughter was safe far away from all this horror...perhaps that was balm for her spirit too.

"Danarius took a lot, but not everything," she said.  She put her other hand over his.  "But we're free now.  Both of us.  From everything he did, the pain, the abuse, the manipulation.  Everything.  Now, we are free of him.  I only hope you can find some happiness."

"I have," he said.  "Hawke is...thank you for bringing her back to me."

"I promised."

"I know; its how I finally forgave you."

Though she tried to stop them, the tears finally came then.  She couldn't help herself.  She flew forward and pulled Leto into a hug.  He flinched at first, but then relaxed, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

"I hope you can find happiness too," Fenris said as he pulled away.  "That elf, Solas; do I need to have some sort of brotherly talk with him?" He snorted.  "Like Hawke's brother Carver tried to have with me?"

Varania laughed, crying at the same time.  "That would be a sight to see," she snorted.  "But I think I'll be okay."

He smiled sardonically.  It suited his face.  "You better be.  I don't want to lose my family, now that I finally have it again.  I'll write to you; I need the practice."  

She couldn't help but grin.  He hadn't been able to read or write when they parted in Tevinter.  It was rare for slaves to taught.  She only learned after her magic manifested, since she was more valuable able to read and learn about magic on her own.  She imagined Hawke must have taught him.  She was an amazing woman.  Varania was so glad she found him.

"I'd like that."  

He squeezed her hand and stood, brushing his palms on his pants.  "Hawke's expecting me.  We need to get ready to leave tomorrow, but I hope we can see wach other again before we leave."

"I'll come up and find you later.  I need to get to know Bethany before you go."  

Fenris looked pleased.  He nodded and turned to go, walking away through the covered walkway along the edge of the garden.  His footsteps were lighter than before, as if there was a weight lifted off of him.  She felt lighter too, brighter, like the dark edge of her blood was finally clean again.

She didn't need to feel guilty anymore.  She'd made a mistake, a terrible one, but who hadn't failed once or twice?  And in the end, this is what had come of it.  If she hadn't come to Kirkwall, perhaps no one would have been there to interrupt Corypheus, to steal the anchor.  If she hadn't done everything that same way, that little girl with Leto's eyes and Hawke's ears wouldn't exist.  Maybe no one would still exist, trapped in Corypheus's web of red lyrium and destruction.

Varania was right where she was meant to be.  Maybe it wasn't Andraste that gave her this mark on her hand, but that hardly mattered.  

She had work do to.  There was a whole world worth saving.  

It helped that her brother was in it. 


	17. Like Golden Sovereigns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some memories, you keep.

Solas's long tapered fingers ran over the parchment absently.  He didn't really appear to be looking at the map laying across his desk, but instead through it.  There was a frown on his face and a deep crease between his eyebrows.  He didn't look up when Varania came in, not even when she sat on the corner of his desk.

It wasn't until she laid her hand on the top of his head that he noticed her at all.  He looked up quickly and tried to smile, but failed at it.  She moved her hand around the back of his head, resting against the warm skin on the base of his skull.  He closed his eyes for a moment, soaking up the sensation.  He always purred when she touched his head, as if he was storing up the memory for later.

"My heart," he said quietly before opening his eyes again.  He leaned back in his chair to look at her. 

"You look troubled," she said.  Her own heart felt far less troubled than she expected, considering.

Fenris and Hawke had left that morning, baby Bethany and two dozen broken Grey Wardens including Kya Amell and Nathaniel Howe in tow.  Varania had kissed Bethany and Hawke on the cheek and hugged her brother without being afraid for the first time in her life.

She might never see any of them again, but her heart was content.

Solas, on the other hand, looked anything but content.  He looked like he'd seen a ghost.

"I am fine," he lied, clearly.

Varania gave him a look.  "How many times am I going to have to remind you that you can talk to me?" In the beginning, it felt like it was her hesitation that kept them apart.  Now, she knew it was his.  No matter how close they became, no matter how many nights they explored each other before exploring the Fade, there was this invisible barrier between Solas and everyone else.  Varania was able to press herself against it, but she was no closer to getting through it than a stranger.

Solas sighed.  "I know, but there are some things-"  He didn't continue.  There was no need to rehash the same refusals again.

She turned herself on the desk so her legs pressed up against his, her fingers flexing against his neck.  She slipped her feet on to the floor and angled herself to slide into his lap.  He couldn't see the map if she was in the way.

There wasn't much comfort he'd allow.  Varania kissed the shell of his ear and then set her chin on his shoulder.

"Atisha ma'lath," she whispered.  "I don't need to know what is hurting you to try to soothe it."

His arms wrapped around her back.  He didn't speak, but relaxed underneath her.  It was impossible to know what it was that was bothering him, whether something from his own life or the memory of someone else's life.  She felt him shake his head.

"You shouldn't be comforting me when its your brother who left today," he said.  His hands on her shoulders shifted her back so he could look at her.  "Are you well?"  He changed the subject so smoothly she almost didn't realize it at first.  It sounded like concern and it was, but more than that, it was deflection.

She resisted the urge to tell him she noticed.  "I'm fine, really," she said instead.  It was the truth.  "I never expected to see him at all, and certainly didn't expect to part on good terms.  We almost caused each other's deaths the last time.  If it hadn't been for Hawke, one or both of us could easily have...but instead I have a family, even if they are going to be far away.  It's a comfort to know they are safe."

A wash of emotions danced across Solas's face.  Sadness transitioned into wonder and amazement.  His smile spread wide across his face, even as tears dampened his eyes and made them look bright.  "I don't know how you do that."

"Do what?"

"Say the right thing; what I need to hear even when I...." He trailed off.  It didn't need to be said;  _when I don't tell you what is going on, what is hurting me, what is tearing me apart._

Varania didn't know how to respond.  He hadn't told her anything; how could she answer a question she hadn't heard?

"Just lucky, I guess," she said.  Whatever she'd said right, the look on his face did wonders for her heart.  She cupped his face between her palms and drank in the sudden shift in his mood.  When the corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk, she kissed him.

It only lasted for a few heartbeats, that precious little smile, before he swallowed it again.

"When do we leave for the Arbor Wilds?" he asked, somber again.

Varania sighed.  "That depends on Leliana's agents.  She's sending out ravens as we speak.  If they are quick to reply, it could be as soon as tomorrow.  Corypheus and Samson are running the Red Templars hard.  Whenever we leave, they will probably beat us to it.  Whatever  _it_  actually is."

"A temple," he said, matter-of-fact, though they only had rumors.  He backed up and added, "If our sources are correct, of course."

She didn't waste time asking.  If he'd even reply, it would be something cryptic about the Fade.  She wondered sometimes if that was just another deflection.

"Morrigan seems certain," she said and Solas immediately grimaced.  He despised her on some general principle, though Varania honestly didn't understand why.  Then again, he wasn't there when Morrigan brought Kya Amell to speak to her son.  Varania had a hard time seeing Morrigan as anything but sympathetic after that, though she was still surprised that she and Loghain had been involved.

It was an odd pairing, though perhaps no stranger than the adopted Dalish, former Tevinter slave and the apostate with a chip on his shoulder about the Dalish bigger than his head.  She didn't waste more time on worrying about it.  She liked it better when Solas was smiling and she was kissing him, instead of this incessant frowning so she endeavored to make that happen instead.

She slipped her arms around his neck and made a show of looking at him carefully, scanning her eyes over his familiar face, over all those sharp corners and soft details, focusing for an overlong moment on the bow of his mouth.  Varania bit her lip, then showed just the tip of her tongue between her teeth before letting her eyes slip up to his, to check where he was looking.  He was watching her mouth carefully.

"I don't want to talk about Morrigan," she said, voice low and quiet. 

He hummed, a soft seductive sound, transfixed for a moment before abruptly clearing his throat and meeting her eyes.  He was a bit flustered and nearly embarrassed but it passed quickly.  

Either of them could die whenever they got up in the morning.  That constant reminder of mortality had a wild side effect of making her powerfully drawn to anything that reminded her she was alive.  The warm ridges of Solas's thighs under her was doing wonders to remind her.  She wriggled herself on his lap, eliciting another of those throaty groans.  She felt his voice like fingers on her skin.

"I find that I don't want to talk at all," he said.  He rarely admitted his desire, leaving it to her to initiate their intimacy, even now after all these months of sharing her bed -- at least when she could talk him into it.  But she wasn't going to question it now as he looped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him, his other hand trailing up her arm and into her hair.  

Solas kissed her, suddenly wild as if he wanted to devour her, pressing her back against the solidity of his desk, pinning her there with his slight weight.  He always surprised her with this wiry strength and the force of his passion when it was inflamed. 

Varania clung to him.  

He once said that she changed everything.  He was changing her now.

So many things about him she still didn't know; he still kept his past private and close and his future shrouded.  But she knew his touch and the fierceness of his love.  It made the rest seem unimportant.

Both hands on her waist now, he shifted her until she was straddling him in his chair, heedless that it was the middle of the day, that there were people walking in the library above them.  Voices carried even through the closed doors from the main hall into the rotunda.  Solas didn't seem to care for a moment, one hand sliding down the arch of her spine.  Varania could feel his unmistakable arousal, so intimately pressed against her.

A wave of desire washed over her, overwhelming her.  She wanted him all the time; there was no point in pretending otherwise, but this was savage, animalistic.  She didn't care if Andraste herself was in the room with them.  Varania tucked a hand in between their bodies, touching him, reveling in the answering pressure, the strangled, heated sound he made against her lips.

It was awkward, fabric bits between them and Varania laughed as they both had the same idea at once.  Fingers fumbled with laces and buttons.  Solas chuckled into her neck.  Somehow, they managed to shift enough, get the offending clothes moved so there was just enough skin on skin.

The laughter burned away when he sunk into her.  Her fingers grabbed at the ridges of his sweater, mangling it as she pulled him closer.  They couldn't have been closer, but still they wanted it, clutching and grabbing at each other, struggling to even move even as they both wanted, needed that delicious friction.  

It became an act of desperate need; not sex, nothing so simple.  Varania hardly understood what was happening but her heart didn't care if she understood.  Her pulse beat hard, she felt the frantic beating of his heart against her.

Solas bit into her shoulder, his teeth just hard enough to leave am impression in her skin as she felt him come undone.  

She clung to him in silence, only the ragged cadence of their breathing to betray them.  Neither of them dared to move, except for Varania laying her head on his shoulder and the reverence of his lips pressing kisses where his teeth marked her.

"Ir abelas, ma vhenan," he muttered before pressing his lips against the crescent moon his teeth left behind.

Varania's eyebrows drew together.  "Why are you sorry?"

"I hurt you."  His voice sounded far away.

"No, no, you didn't," she said.  Varania put her hand of the back of his head, knowing how he relished that, how it comforted him.  He didn't relax this time, and though he was still inside of her, it felt suddenly like he was a world away from her.

His voice caught.  "But I will."

"No," she repeated but couldn't think of comforting words to add.  They all might hurt each other, in time.  Life had a way of twisting things.  The deepest love often lead to the most painful wounds.  "No, I know you won't, not if you can help it." 

Solas tightened the circle of his arms around her.

"I wish I could promise that to you."  His words made her heart ache.

She flexed her fingers on his skull.  She loved the overheated, so soft texture of the skin of his scalp, the way she could feel where the muscles in his neck tapered as they spread over the bone underneath.  It made him feel real, alive and normal, just an elf like she was, even if sometimes he made her wonder.

"You don't have to," she said.  "Its true."  

She couldn't say he wouldn't hurt her, or even that she wouldn't hurt him.  But she knew it would never come from intent, from the desire to damage each other, only from the currents of life wherever they might lead.  

Solas didn't speak again, just held her as their breathing slowed and their heartbeats returned to normal.  Varania tucked the sweet sensation away in her brain, just as she used to do with the moments of sweetness when she was a slave.

Then, happiness came small.  A strawberry. An afternoon in the sun with her brother.  A stray kind word from the Master.  She never wasted those moments, just saved them up in her memory like coins in a bank to withdraw when she needed them.

She kissed Solas in the hollow behind his delicately pointed ear.  This moment, she'd keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Atisha ma'lath -- Peace, my love  
> Ir abelas, ma vhenan -- I'm sorry, my heart


	18. Drink Deep of the Well of Sorrows

"Inquisitor!"

The well felt like perfect rainwater, puddled in a leaf.  It was cool and yet felt sun-warmed, all at once.  It lapped at her ankles, she could taste it in the back of her throat; she could smell it and feel the scent in the top of her head, crisp and earthy and ionic.

Then the light began, lightning reflected in a pond, moonlight glowing up from beneath the water's surface.  The well effervesced, transformed and swirled up around her in a torrent.

Varania heard Solas calling her name, but he seemed very far away.

This was magic like she'd never experienced, engulfing and overwhelming.  She understood why Abelas fought so hard to protect it.  It felt as if for a moment, she understood the entirely of existence.  There were voices, innumerable but mellifluous.  A song swelled around her and knowledge, sweet and bitter hung in every note.  She knew who everyone was,  _everyone and_   _she knew oh by the Creators and the Maker **she**_ **knew** and then just as suddenly it was gone and the ground under her feet was torn away.  She fell to her knees.  

The world rocked, her head spun and the harmonious chorus became dissonant.  Voices screamed, shouted into incomprehensible sounds, drowning each other out in the din.

"Inquisitor!"

She wasn't sure who screamed this time, a man's voice; a woman's? It was impossible to tell.  Varania could viscerally feel the danger, despite all the screaming and voices.  Self preservation drove her to her feet.  The ground felt unbalanced, but she hung on like a sailor in a storm.  She shifted her eyes up just in time to see Corypheus appear on the balcony above them.  

He was huge, larger than any man should be, strange and hideous.  Despite watching him die, his body utterly destroyed by the barrier at the gate of the temple, this body was just as the one before.  It was bursting at the seams, red lyrium gleaming out between tendrils of over stretched flesh.  He screamed in frustration, in anger and in hatred as he rushed toward them.  

There was nowhere to run.

Varania spun, the voices directing her.  The Eluvian shimmered behind her and with a gesture, she opened it.  She had no idea how she did it, but that didn't matter.  What mattered was getting away.  They were in no shape to take on Corypheus, especially knowing what they did now; that he was more immortal than they realized.  

The others followed her directions without question, disappearing through the magical barrier.  No one even blinked, even had a second thought.  Maybe it meant she was actually a real leader now, but she didn't have the time to consider it.

Varania was the last to leave, transfixed by Corypheus floating through the air towards her like a raptor.  He was close, too close before the voices became a cacophony.  She practically fell through the Eluvian, feeling it close behind her without any effort on her part.  

She felt the sound of breaking glass in her bones, but when she looked up, she found herself on her ass outside of Morrigan's Eluvian, the shimmering glass dark but whole.

Mythal's Eluvian was shattered.  She didn't need to see it; she just knew it.  The temple's life was finally at an end.

She wanted to mourn it, but there was no time.  The voices swirled in her head, insistent but so loud she could hardly make them out.  Varania lost consciousness but didn't even realize it, caught up in a thousand years and a thousand lives of memory.

 

* * *

 

When she woke, she was warm and there was the soft sound of a crackling fire.  Before she even opened her eyes, as consciousness slowly returned, she immediately felt a pang of loss.  She felt the loss of the temple and its guardians keenly as if they were her family.  She felt a twinge in her throat, like tears; a memory was lost and she couldn't dredge it back up again.  _Something._ The voice had told her something desperately important, but she couldn't remember it now.  There was a little hollow spot where that memory belonged.  The voices were still there, but they were quieter now.  They ebbed and flowed like soft waves lapping against the beach.

She blinked her eyes, rubbing at them with the back of her hand as she sat up.  She was in her quarters, tucked into her bed.  It was warmer than she usually kept it, the fire roaring merrily in the hearth and the tall doors to the balcony shut.  Icy, snow mixed raindrops splattered against the stained glass.

Dorian was curled on the settee, his legs tucked under him and a book on the tips of his fingers.  He seemed to hear her stir and turned, a slow smile appearing under the curls of his moustache.

"I was hoping you'd wake when it was my turn," he smiled at her.  "You all right in there?"

Varania shrugged.  "I think so?"  That felt honest.  "I'm still in here, anyway."

"Solas-" He made a face and apparently changed his mind about continuing.  He cleared his throat.  "Well, Morrigan took the time to explain what happened," Dorian said.  "Solas was in sort of a state about the whole thing.  I expected he'd want to be here, but he refused."

Varania frowned.  She didn't like the way that sounded.  She knew he wasn't happy about her drinking from the well, but what choice did they have?  If Corypheus wanted the knowledge, they needed it, even if it was all currently a jumbled mess in her head.  But Solas often had motivations she didn't understand.  She was sure he had a very good reason he was angry, but she was certain he wasn't going to tell anyone about it. 

"I'm not as surprised as you'd think," she admitted. 

Dorian raised a carefully groomed eyebrow in reply but didn't comment.  Probably had to bite his tongue in half to do it, but he was managing better than she expected.  Instead, he got up and came over to her, sitting on the side of the bed and putting a hand on her knees through the blankets.

"For what it's worth, whatever his problem is, I think you did the right thing.  I'm certain Cassandra isn't happy either and Sera just looks terrified by the whole thing but neither of them have much imagination."  He smiled again and cocked his head.  "You're honestly the strongest willed mage I've ever known.  I'm not worried."

Varania was incredulous.  "Me?" Dorian came from a long line of Tevinter magisters, knew the most powerful mages in the Imperium but  _she_ was the strongest willed?  Clearly, he was humoring her.

"If anyone was going to resort of blood magic, I honestly thought it would be you," he said.  He gave her a look.  "Because we both know you know how."

"I've never-" she started and he cut her off.

"That's just the thing," he explained.  "You  _haven't_ , as far as I can tell.  Even I sometimes practice what southerners would consider blood magic, using my own." He made a dismissing hand gesture.  "Not anymore, of course, but I've never even seen that from you when no one else was looking."

Varania shrugged.  She wanted to be nonchalant.  Blood magic itself wasn't the problem.

"Solas said it made it harder to work with the Fade," she said and that bit was true at least.  "And Keeper Dashana didn't like it. I haven't even tried since I left Tevinter.  I don't think it's a matter of will."  She looked at her hands in her lap.  "Fear, really."

Dorian scoffed.  "I don't believe that for a second," he said.  "You just waltzed right into the well because it had to be done.  You didn't even flinch.  You aren't the easily spooked type."

"I'm not afraid of ancient elven gods," she said, matter-of-fact.  "They didn't cut lyrium into my brother's skin."

Dorian's hand came and rested on top of hers.  "You're right, they didn't.  And you're better than the people who did.  Fear is the primary reason mages resort to blood magic and scared or not, you aren't using it."

Varania looked up at him as he squeezed her hands.

"If anyone has reason to be scared, it's you." He smiled broadly.  "But here you are.  I'm proud of you."

"Not sure I deserve accolades for this, but I'll take it."  She gave him a wan, forced smile.  "So how mad is he?" She didn't bother saying she was asking about Solas.  Dorian would know.  

Dorian chuckled.  "I can't tell.  Does he ever smile?"

"All the time," Varania said to him, hiding her nerves under a sly smile.  "Just not at you."

"There's no accounting for taste," Dorian said, in that special bravado he liked to use when he was hiding his own nerves and insecurity under a blanket of narcissism.    "I mean you are cute and all that, but?" He gestured at himself up and down.  "How could this not make someone smile?"

Varania grinned at him.  He had this way of making her feel like things were okay, even when they weren't okay.  And the voices from the well were mostly quiet when she smiled.  "It sure makes Bull smile."

Dorian immediately blushed, which seemed out of character.  He cleared his throat but didn't say anything.

Varania's smile spread a bit wider.  "You have it bad, don't you?"

"Of course not; he's a ridiculous uncultured horn-headed beast," Dorian said, shaking his head.  "Why I couldn't have found a nice Templar...."  His voice trailed off and he got a faraway, dreamy look on his face.

"You're in love with him."  It was a statement, not a question.

Dorian's head snapped back to her and he looked like he was going to protest but he gave up quickly.  He muttered under his breath. "Stultus mirabile taurum spuria...do you think he knows?"

Varania didn't know what that meant, but she understood anyway.  "If he doesn't, you better tell him."

"Kaffas."  Dorian pursed his lip.  "I know.  How did this happen?" He lamented his terrible luck at being in love.  Varania shook her head at him.

"It's wonderful," she said softly.  "I'm happy for you."

Dorian's face had a goofy smile.  "It  _is_  wonderful, but don't you dare tell anyone I said that." He patted the bed.  "Now that I'm completely flustered, how's your head?  That's why I'm actually here, not to be pestered about my sex life."

"Love life," Varania corrected.

Dorian frowned.  "Fine," he groused.  "You. Head."  He gesticulated wildly.  "Clearly your sass is still working.  How's everything else?"

"I'm fine," she said and that felt like the truth.  Since she'd woken, the voices were just white noise.  It felt like she would be able to listen if she focused her attention, but they weren't like a spirit.  She wasn't possessed.  It was just like having vivid memories.  

Someone else's memories, but that aside, she felt all right. She was honestly more worried about Solas than herself.  His absence spoke louder than any words.

"Good," Dorian said.  "Then get out of the bed and go find your bald elf and talk some sense into him."

Varania smiled.  "What would I do without you Dorian?"

"Fail horribly and wear mismatched armor, I assume." His voice was only half serious, but that was typical.  

She dragged herself out from under the covers and headed towards the stairs before Dorian stopped her.

"Ugh," he groaned at her.  "And apparently wander around half dressed with uncombed hair. Come back here."

 

* * *

 

Dorian made sure she looked presentable before he let her leave, even brushing through her hair himself.  It reminded her of home, if Tevinter was home.  She supposed it always would be, in a way.  

It was a Tevinter thing, she supposed, but her mother always combed her hair, even when she was an adult.  Varania did it for Leto, whenever he'd let her.  When Master Danarius was in a mood, he was forever sending for slaves to comb their hair.

Back then, Varania's hair was long, almost to her hips and the Master loved to run his bone comb through it.  It was strange, but she remembered it fondly.  A part of her wanted to to hate everything about her past, but that would be a lie.

There were moments that were worth remembering, even knowing how awful it was.  Sometimes that idea, that memory of someone else making choices for her, was comforting now that so much lay on her shoulders.  She had her advisors and she trusted them, but in the end, she was the one who had to choose.

Just like she chose at the Well of Sorrows.  Now, she would have to live with the consequences, whatever they were.

She headed down the stairs, leaving Dorian to finish his book in the warmth of the fireplace and wished that she could have just stayed with him, even as much as she wanted to talk to Solas.  His anger; she only saw him direct it at others.  She'd never experienced it herself but she knew it was cutting.  She wasn't sure she had the fortitude to bear it.

But if she could bear the weight of the Inquisition on her back, she could manage the ire of one middle aged-acerbic elf.

Of course she could.  

It would be fine.

_Really._

Varania managed to not run away.  It was a step. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stultus mirabile taurum spuria -- In Latin: "Foolish wonderful bastard bull" via google translate


	19. Two Point Perspective

Solas was pacing.  He was walking too quickly from one side of the rotunda to the other, usually quiet footfalls echoing off the curved walls.  He was fidgeting,  his long fingered hands folding and unfolding as he moved.  His normally sleek and graceful gait was ragged and uneven.

He didn't hear her come in.

"Solas?" Varania asked softly and he stopped in his tracks, staring at the wall as if he couldn't bear to look at her. Her heart sunk.

"Do you know what you've done?"  His voice sounded strangled.

"I did what I had to."  It was only the truth.  If Corypheus wanted the Well, they needed it instead.  If not her, then who?  Morrigan?  Varania trusted her more than she expected to, but it felt wrong to let a human absorb all those elven memories.

The look on Solas's face made it pretty clear he didn't share her practical sentiment as he spun around to face her.  His eyes bored into her.

"You've pledged yourself to the service of an elven god!" He was angry, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of fear in his words.  "Do you even know what that means?"

Varania sighed.  "Not really, but I don't see that we had another option, do you?"

Solas opened his mouth and closed it again, frowning.  "I suppose not. That alternatives were limited."  He sighed.  "The ancient gods were petty and often unpredictable.  And you have so much information to sort through now, so much...."  He paused, looking down at the floor, his face fluttering through a myriad of expression.   She saw his chest move as he took a deep but silent breath before turning his eyes back to her.  "What will you do if you manage to defeat Corypheus; with this knowledge, with the Inquisition?"

He'd never seemed particularly concerned with this before.

Varania looked at him carefully and trying to find her way through his carefully crafted mask.  His eyes seemed to end at their pale blue-grey irises, like glass marbles.  What was underneath was hidden.  Even his earlier anger and barely veiled fear  simmering in his accusatory tone were gone.

"I'll try to make the world a better place," Varania said finally, accepting she wasn't going to be able to figure out what he was after.  She just settled for the unadorned truth.  "I've seen the worst and the best of Thedas and I know we can do better."

"But what if the world you create is worse than what was before?"  There was a wavering edge to his voice.  He was struggling to keep his composure.  She started to understand why he'd left the others to care for her.  Solas looked like he was about to fall apart, but she didn't understand why.

There was a niggling feeling in the base of her skull like there was something she was forgetting and faintly, the scent of rainwater, of the Well, in the back of her throat.

"I'll pull myself together, figure out where I went wrong, and try again."  She shrugged.  It only seemed logical.  What else could she do?

"Just like that?" The lines around his mouth softened.

"Just like that."

Instead of the scowl he'd been wearing, Solas smiled, his entire body draining of tension she hadn't even realized he was carrying.  

"You give me hope, ma vhenan," he said.  "Thank you."

He confounded her.  Only a moment ago, he seemed so angry, but now he was thanking her.

"I don't understand."  She felt like she never understood him, not even with all this new wisdom inserted into her head.  

Usually, it didn't matter. Today it seemed to.

"You remind me that if we keep trying, we can find our way, in time," he said, cryptic as ever.  "You are a remarkable woman, Inquisitor."

She raised her eyebrows at that.  "Inquisitor?"

He chuckled, half shrugging with a single shoulder.  "It is good for me to remember that, at times."  He cocked his head.  "Sometimes, I look at you and I see only one of the roles you play and forget the others.  But I cannot do that.  You have made all of this possible and I, of all people, certainly shouldn't second guess you."  

Solas laughed then but it was as bitter as the white pith of an orange, a taste she'd almost forgotten.  Orange trees grew along the road to her former Master's estate.  Her skin prickled.  Solas's judgement of his own guilt was palpable in the air, but yet he was still as secretive as the voices whispering in her head.

"Come with me, vhenan," Solas said, just as suddenly, holding a hand out to her.  "We have never had the opportunity to truly be alone before and I think it is time."

"Oh?" 

The corner of his mouth quirked.  "There are things...."  His voice trailed away.  "I do not say it and I should; I want to have you to myself, at least for a moment."

Varania's heart felt like it skipped a beat before racing in her chest.  This thing between them wasn't new, but when ever he would crack open his shell and let her see inside, it thrilled her.  With each tiny glimpse, she felt herself fall in love with him just a little more.  

Soon, she wondered if she'd be able to tell when he ended and she began.  

_Ma vhenan._ My heart.

She nodded, slipping her fingers between his.  His skin was warm and soft, the raised callouses on his palm from his staff worn smooth.  He squeezed her hand and pulled it to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.  Then he smiled and turned towards the door.  

She let him lead her; the taste of oranges, both sweet and bitter, lingering in her mouth.

 

* * *

 

They took horses and left Skyhold with the wind at their backs.  

Solas assured her that the Inquisition would get by without them for a few days.  Varania certainly liked the sound of that.  She'd not left her duties except when unconscious since they found Skyhold perched on the side of the mountain.  

Or since Solas led her to it anyway.

Even now, most didn't know that he was the one who found it, not she.  Her advisors made sure of it.  It bothered her, taking so much credit for what her companions had done, for the hard work and knowledge they brought.  Yet she knew they needed someone to follow, someone to idolize and put on the pedestal with the sword to point the way, even if it wasn't entirely true.

For now, she got to leave that all behind.  She breathed deeply of her temporary freedom, the breeze warming as they came down out of the mountains, the scent of summer flowers weaving through the strands of her hair as they whipped around her face.

Solas rode ahead of her with his usual grace, as if he and the horse were of one mind, moving together seamlessly.  Only the Dalish Halla riders seemed more in tune with their mounts, yet Solas had never ridden this particular geldling before.  The wind fluttered the fur that trimmed his tunic and pushed the fabric tight against his body.  She bit her lip, her brain providing the image of the lean, wiry form she knew all that baggy fabric concealed.

For once, she didn't have to try to focus elsewhere.  She let herself indulge for a moment.  She nudged her horse forward as the path widened to ride beside him.  Solas glanced over at her but didn't say anything.

"Can I ask where we are going?" It didn't really matter, but she was curious.

"Crestwood," he replied quickly but didn't elaborate.

"Crestwood."  Her tone was both matter-of-fact and questioning.  "Where we closed a rift under a lake and dispatched several wyvern?"

He smiled.  "Yes, where we found the wyvern in fact."

"The grove, with the statues."  It wasn't really a question.  She remembered.  She also remembered distinctly that Varric commented it smelled like wet dog and that Solas had been greatly amused by that.

"Yes," he said and noticing her strange look added, "You'll see."

Solas looked back toward the road for a moment before turning back to look at her.  He cocked his head in that way he did, inspecting her, having some quiet internal debate.

"Tell me a story," he asked, his voice quiet.

"I'm no bard," she said, surprised at his request. "Leliana said I didn't have it in me."

"I know," Solas said.  His voice had a new strange quality to it, one that she couldn't put her finger on.  "Because bards - and many others - lie. You do not."  His expression was equally indecipherable.  "Tell me a story about you, about your life."  He seemed to hear her unspoken question.  "I know much from the Fade, but precious little from the world.  I wonder how much the stories change."

"Much I'd imagine," she said.  "I still can't stop thinking about what Abelas said, about Mythal and Fen'Harel and murder.  It's not the same story I was told."  She paused, that strange feeling in her bones again, trying to tell her something, but she couldn't understand, like a dream you forget upon waking.  It was almost enough to keep her from noticing how Solas's eyes narrowed a little at the mention of the two gods.  "I wonder what the truth is?"

"If I have learned nothing else," Solas said, his face carefully neutral again.  "It is that the truth is mutable.  In the Fade, stories are told by the perspective of spirits, of those mortals whose powerful emotions affected them.  Emotions always change how the story is told.  Even so, I would like to hear about you, from you.  I know less than I'd like."

"I don't even know how old you are Solas," Varania groused.  It was such a strange request.  She was happy to tell him whatever he wanted to know, even if most of her stories would be sad.  But the direct request when she knew he'd still tell her nothing was strange.

"I don't know how old you are either vhenan," he said snidely.  "I didn't ask and you didn't volunteer."

"Oh I...." A smile spread across Varania's face.  He was right.  She hadn't told him.  Perspective was indeed a funny thing.  "I'm thirty-one, " she said.  "How old are you?"

Solas grinned.  "Old enough."


	20. The Veil Before Eternity

"The veil is thin here. Can you feel it, tingling on your skin?"  Solas spoke quietly as they walked hand in hand into the grove.  They left the horses to graze in the tall grass outside, both animals too nervous to follow.  

Varania was nervous too.  It felt like there were butterflies, just like the one Solas carved on her bone pendant, fluttering in her belly.  

There was something about this place, something that felt sacred but that didn't frighten her.  After The Well of Sorrows, the eerie sensation of being watched seemed almost normal.

But she was afraid of him, of them, of how fragile this thing between them felt.

Solas was right, they'd never really been alone before, not really.  Even that first memorable evening when they made love with the sunset as a backdrop, there had been the faint lilt of voices from the courtyards below.  Later, when they were hungry they went and shared a late meal with Dorian and Cassandra.

Varania smiled at the memory.  The knowledge of how they'd become such staunch friends, the Seeker and the Necromancer.  Who could have imagined?  Just as she and Solas found each other, Dorian and Cassandra had both found love as well; Iron Bull and Cullen were both very lucky men.  Knowing that the Inquisition, that all this horror had brought more than death into the world gave her strength.

She turned her attention back to Solas beside her.  He was so languid here, easy and loose in a way he rarely was despite the uncurrent of tension in them both.  She did feel it, the magic pressing against the thin veil here. Usually that put her on edge, made the mark in her hand flare.  Yet tonight was different, or perhaps this place was different.  The magic almost seemed to calm her mark instead of inflame it. 

It was beautiful as a painting in this grove, now that the wyvern were gone.  The water danced down the rock face into the calm pool, ferns and soft foliage swaying at their passing.

It was obvious this had once been a site important to the ancient elves, the towering statues and the paintings on the rock walls making that abundantly clear.  Perhaps they chose this place to pray because the veil was thin or perhaps millennia of prayer had thinned the veil and brought peace to the Fade behind it.  Either way, she felt...welcome here.  Whatever entity was worshipped here wanted her here, though she didn't even know its name.  

Undeniably aroused, yet at peace.  Nervous but calmed.  The paradox of emotions swirled around her.  From the sly and yet oddly shy looks Solas was giving her from the corner of his eyes, she knew that she wasn't alone in these feelings.  

They walked silently for a while, only their footfalls and the soft murmur of the water surrounding them.  At the water's edge, Solas stopped and turned to look at her, taking both her hands in his.  He looked at their clasped hands carefully, his head tucked down against his chest.  A silence stretched between them.  Varania squeezed his hands.  

He looked up, smiling faintly.  "I've been thinking about what I can do to show you what you mean to me."

Varania took a step closer to him, tilting her head back to look up at him.  "I already know, ma lath."

"Even so," he began but then paused.  Solas shivered as if a cold wind hit him.  His breathing seemed to come faster and not in excitement.  She recognized his posture immediately, though she'd only seen him like this once before.

When Alexius sent her into the bleak red lyrium future, she found Solas in a cell, tainted and dying from exposure.  When she found him, he was afraid.

He was afraid now.

"I determined the best thing I can offer you is the truth," he said, his voice not betraying his emotion as the rest of his body was.

He opened his mouth to continue and Varania silenced him with a gentle finger over his lips.

"Shh," she hushed him, releasing one hand so she could reach up and press her palm against his cheek.  "Whatever it is, it doesn't matter."

Solas closed his eyes and leaned his face into her hand.  "It does."

"No," she shook her head.  "I love you; for what you do, for what you've done since I've met you.  Whatever came before is the past."

"I wish it was so simple," he said, opening his eyes again.  "There are many truths I should share with you, of varying importance.  Some perhaps I should have told you from the start."

"Am I still a slave?" Varania interrupted him, surprised at how direct her own voice sounded.

"Of course not, that's-"

She cut him off again.  "Then it  _doesn't_  matter."  She slipped her hand around the back of his neck, stepping close to him, their other fingers still entwined together, hanging loose at their sides.  Solas put his free hand on the small of her back, his fingertips brushing over her tailbone.  

"I do want to know your truth whatever it might be," she said.  "But not because you worry that I don't know some truth that will change how I feel.  That it will change what we mean to each other."  She smiled at him, swallowing hard at the lump of emotion in her throat.  "Because I love you and you should never doubt that."

He melted against her, his expression and his eyes soft.  "You are remarkable."  He took a long slow breath.  "You are so beautiful."

The emotion in his words was so heartfelt and heartbreaking all at once.  Varania couldn't help but lean into him, reaching up on her toes to kiss him.  As his arms came around her, she felt encompassed by him, surrounded and comforted in his embrace.    

"Vhenan," he whispered.   She could almost hear him wanting to continue.  Varania didn't know what he wanted to say, but she could feel that whatever it was hurt him deeply.  This first moment they were truly alone she couldn't stand the idea of them wasting it mired in angst.

Things were hard enough without wasting the few precious moments they had.

She silenced him with another kiss.  

This kiss wasn't soft or chaste, but passionate and forceful.  Solas seemed taken aback for a heartbeat but he quickly reciprocated.  The hand that lay so demurely on her back suddenly gripped at her, grasping her close, sliding lower over the curve of her ass and to the indent where it melded into her thigh.

Varania's head fell back as his mouth began to wander, along the ridge of her jaw and down the length of her neck.  Wild hands tugged at clothing, seeking the solace of warm skin underneath.  She managed to get her tunic off and dropped it on to the ground and he wasted no time tasting each inch of exposed skin.  

Once, she imagined this was a place ancient elves came to pay homage to one of their gods.  Now, they would worship each other.

She yanked at his sweater, only letting their frantic touches break long enough to fling it over his head.  She found his mouth with hers again, desperate to taste him and to show him how much she wanted him, no matter what any of their truths were.  

This was the only truth that mattered.

He seemed mad for her touch, quickly divesting himself and her of the rest of their clothing and tumbling them down on to the ground. Solas cradled her on his chest, pulling her on top of him until she was astride his hips, both of them fiercely aroused.  Neither spoke a word, as if words were both too much and not enough to express this feeling.

Silently, Varania looked down at him, her hair hanging loose on either side of her face.  Propped on her palm, she ran her free hand over the side of his face, over his sharp cheekbones and jaw.  A muscle twitched under her palm as she stroked along the length of his throat and the line of his sternum.  Her fingers delved lower, over the flat plane on his belly to reach between them.  Her fingers grazed along the length of his erection, tilting him just slightly under she could slide back down to take him inside her.  

She was more aroused than she thought she'd ever been.  He slipped inside her without the slightest resistance.  Varania closed her eyes, reveling in the smooth slip of skin on skin, on feeling her body clenching at him.  

Solas made a low supplicating sound.  She opened her eyes to look at him, finding him staring at her, his eyes riveted on her face and at her expression of blind, overwhelming pleasure.

He swallowed hard but smiled at her, a painful smile with a deep furrowed line between his brows betraying his distress that even this pleasure couldn't wash away.

"I love you," he said, only the faintest whisper as he lifted his head, arms coming around her shoulders.  Varania pressed her forehead against his.  She was too terrified to speak.  Her heart felt like glass at his broken expression.

Instead, she moved her hips, the sweet pleasure of their bodies overwhelming the threatening pain.  Solas didn't speak again, only began to move with her, their bodies finding quickly the rhythm of practice.  She knew just how to move, how to angle her hips to both find her own release and to drive him mad.  He knew the same and focused first on her, his own body almost an afterthought.

For what seemed like only a moment but also an eternity, there was only the sound of their commingled breath, of their skin and beneath it the soft rush of flowing water.  

Instead of an explosion, her climax flowed over her like that water, like an unraveling of her spine, chills of satisfaction coursing over her body.  She felt the reflexive contractions of her inner muscles and his instinctive animal response.  

Solas spent himself with a heart wrenching sigh, clinging to her as if she might evaporate into the night air.  Varania felt tears prick into the corners of her eyes.  Even as she lay cradled against him, his heart beating frantically into her ear and his sweat damp flesh against her cheek, she could feel him curving back into himself, pulling away from her.

He was inside her and his arms were around her and she could feel how he loved her but even so, she could feel him drifting away with each passing moment.

"I need," he began, and she lifted her head to look at him despite her sudden fear.  "The truth..."  His face danced through a myriad of emotions, through expressions she couldn't identify, changing swiftly as the wind.  But instead of continuing, he threaded fingers through her hair, pressing her face back down against his chest.

"Later," he whispered, his voice catching in his throat.  Suddenly, he was with her again, his presence strong and overwhelming again.

"Yes," Varania said, squeezing her arms around him tighter.  He was here.  For now, he was really, really here.  "Later."

For that moment, she felt him again, not pulling away but beside her fully.  Her heart pattered in her chest, but she let the sound of his slowing heartbeat soothe her.  His fingers ran softly through the length of her hair at her temple.

"Lath’sal’in," Solas whispered.  "Lath ma'revas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lath'sal'in = “Love the house of the soul.” (From Project Elvhen)
> 
> Lath ma'revas = "Love is my freedom" (My best guess)


	21. Ar Lasa Mala Revas

Varania was warm, wrapped in a soft blanket that smelled like smoke, Skyhold and Solas.  It wasn't quite morning yet, just the faintest hint of light creeping over the edges of the high stone walls that surrounded the grove.  The gold sunlight kissed the tips of the trees where they swayed in a soft breeze, still crisp with the cool of the night.

She rolled over and spotted Solas crouched on a stone near the water's edge, staring blankly towards the soft falling water as it rippled the surface of the pool.  He looked like he was a thousand miles or a thousand years away.

Varania untangled herself from the blanket and found her clothes, neatly folded nearby.  She slipped into them before making her way over to Solas, her feet soft in the damp grasses.  His posture changed as she drew near though he didn't turn around.

"Good Morning," he said, his voice cool and neutral.  Solas stood from crouching so gracefully it temporarily distracted her, but the sad expression on his face when he turned to her sobered her immediately.  Solas seemed to pull a mask over his expression when he saw the frown appear at the corner of her mouth.

"Did you sleep well?" His voice was conversational, but he wasn't fooling her.

"I did," she replied.  "Though I didn't expect you'd wake before me."  It was odd.  On the rare occasions that she talked Solas into staying with her, she almost always woke before he did.  She was used to waking early and he was too interested in the Fade to leave it before the demands of his body woke him.

"I was thinking,"  he said, reaching out and taking her hands.  "I said I wanted to tell you...."

She interrupted, sounding almost annoyed. "Yes, the  _truth_ , whatever that is."  She shook her head.  "Solas, if this is causing you this much distress, maybe you shouldn't-"

He put a finger gently across her lips.   "No, it's important."

"All right then," she conceded.  He needed to tell her, for whatever reason.  She tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest.  

"Vhenan," he said, squeezing her hands.  His eyes were downcast for a moment.  He looked back up at her, resolute.  "I...I'm-" Uncharacteristically his words were not carefully chosen and he stopped.  Cleared his throat.  In the wan light it seemed like he became a little paler.  "The truth then. Your face.  The vallaslin."

Varania furrowed her brow.  Something seemed wrong in how he continued, as if he'd meant to turn left and turned right instead.

"In my journeys in the Fade I have seen things.  I have learned what those markings mean."

"They honor the elven gods," Varania replied quickly.  The Dalish had made sure she understood their meaning well before she was ready to wear them.  Her tattoos, for June the god of Crafting, reminded her both of her brother's lyrium tattoos and how she was building herself from scratch.  They were one part of being Dalish that she embraced wholeheartedly.

"No," Solas said.  "They are slave markings. Or at least they were, in the time of ancient Arlathan."

It felt the the ground under her feet shift.  

_Slave markings?_

_danarius used to brush her hair and hit her and they'd watch her and force her and deprived her sleep and food and he mutilated her brother and threw her out on to the streets and then tricked her, lied to her and his death abandoned her starving running dying_

"So this is what, just one more thing the Dalish got wrong?" she choked on the words, her body tensing at the flood of memories. 

Solas looked like she slapped him. "I'm sorry."

Varania looked at the ground.  "They try to preserve their culture, so proud of being the  _last elvhen_  yet-" She looked up at him, his eyebrows drawn low over his eyes.  " _This_  is what they keep?  Relics of a time they were no better than Tevinter?"  She couldn't look at him.  

She let the Dalish disfigure her, mark her forever.  She would never not be a slave now.  

_they, not we._

_And worse, what had she done to herself at the Temple of Mythal?_

"I didn't tell you this to hurt you, but knowing your past?" He sighed softly, trying to meet her eyes.  "If you like, I know a spell.  I can remove the vallaslin."

Varania's heart flipped in her chest as she looked up at him.  She wanted to say something, but found she didn't have words.  Solas put his hand on her face.

"I look at you and I see what you truly are.  You have never been a slave, no matter what was done to you," he said.  "In your heart, you have always been you, always been free."  Varania wanted to believe him, but she wasn't so sure.  "You deserve so much better than what those cruel marks represent."

"Then cast your spell," she said, finding her voice sooner than she expected.  "Take the vallaslin away.  Please."

He smiled at her beatifically, but there was something more behind his eyes.  It felt like there was more he wasn't telling her, even as he directed her to sit beside him.  They knelt facing each other at the waters edge, the grass soft and deep.  The ground was damp here and she could feel the cool moisture seeping through the fabric of her pants on into her skin.  She shivered as Solas lifted his hands towards her, but she wasn't sure if it was cold or fear.

Magic didn't frighten her; Solas didn't frighten her.  Her heart still hammered wildly.

She felt his magic tug at the thin sheathe of the veil around them, the familiar invisible but undeniable ripple in the air.  His hands began to sparkle, glowing blue green and casting a glow on their skin. She closed her eyes but the light filtered through her eyelids until everything glowed, blinding her.  The magic tingled against her face, but didn't hurt, not like having the vallaslin put on to her face had.  

When they tattooed her, her skin wept blood.  Now, it was only the warmth of his skin, the magic in the air and the all encompassing light.

When the glow faded, she opened her eyes, blinking to clear them.  Everything was black and white at first, just shadows.  Then tones of grey, blue, green, the pale rose of Solas's mouth.  She could see his face again, yet his blue eyes looked dark and bottomless.  

"Ar lasa mala revas," he said, his voice only slightly more than a whisper.  "You are free."

Her eyes burned.

Solas helped her to her feet, his eyes trained on her face, caressing the curve of her jaw, her now naked skin.

"It is good to see you as you were meant to be," he said, smiling faintly.  "You are too beautiful to be obscured with...lies."

She let herself melt into his arms, lifting her face up to his.  Solas's lips were soft and warm against hers.  His kiss was gentle.  She felt tears prickle in the corners of her eyes.

He pulled away from her and looked at her so carefully again, as if he was trying to memorize her face, burn her new bare skin into his memory.  Then, like a cloud passing in front of the sun, his face changed.  He closed off, stepped back, just far enough away that they couldn't touch.

"I'm sorry."  It was the second time he said it, but this time, it had a tone of finality.  "I distracted you from your duty.  Today, and too many other days." He clenched his teeth.  "It will never happen again."

Her heart stopped.

"Solas."  His name came unbidden, almost like a prayer, questioning and pleading.

"Please vhenan," he said, taking another step back.

Though her eyes burned, a new set of memories flooded in.  These were newer and far more important to her than these shadows of Tevinter.

_your indomitable focus, your rare spirit; steel blue eyes in candle light, in sunlight, next to her when she woke, warm calloused fingers against her face, stories into the darkest part of the night, a soft voice in her ear_

_ar lath ma'vhenan_

_my heart_

"Solas," she said, her voice more assured than she expected.  The memories bolstered her.  "I'm not giving up on you."

His voice was broken.  "You truly should."

"Whatever you need, we can do together."  She believed that without hesitation.  Perhaps she was always free, but he helped her see it.  

"No, we cant."  He took another step away, trying and failing to hide the pain on his face.  It was hurting him as much as it was hurting her.

_Why was he doing this?_ She knew he had secrets, that there was more to him than he shared, but she thought she'd finally reached him.  She thought he knew him.

"You'll see," he said, this time, turning away.  "I'm sorry."  His voice cracked but he didn't hesitate and walked away.  She took a step toward his retreating back, but stopped herself. 

She watched him go.  

She did know him.  He would not be swayed, not now.

Varania swallowed hard, blinked and realized her eyes were wet, tears clinging to her eyelashes.  She touched her own cheek brushing the tears away and the skin felt the same as it always had, even without the vallaslin.

Despite the burning ache in her chest, her bare face, the silence, she was still the same inside.  Her heart felt broken, battered but it was still her own heart.

He was right about one thing, she'd always been free.  That didn't mean he was right about everything.

"I love you," she said aloud, knowing he couldn't hear her. 

If she knew only one thing, it was that love was more powerful than he realized.  Perhaps she'd never been in a romance before, but love she knew.  Slavery and betrayal hadn't been enough to break the love she shared with her brother.  Her brother's fear of magic, well earned, hadn't driven him from her or from his Hawke.

Love was powerful.  More powerful than the anchor on her hand and it was saving the world. 

He'd not given her freedom, just removed its symbol.  He hadn't taken her love or his own away either.  

She was free.  That meant she was free to love him even if he walked away from her.  She wasn't giving up on him, not even if he wanted her to.  If he loved her half as much as she loved him, he'd be back.  She wondered for a moment which part was the truth that was hurting him so.  The vallaslin, or his need to leave?  Or was it something else instead, something he still wasn't telling her and perhaps it was what was driving him away.

For now, it didn't matter.  He would tell her in time.  She felt it in her spirit.  She felt it just as surely as she felt Solas's magic on her skin.  All she could do now was wait.  

_Patience._

She wrapped her arms around herself, eyes still trained on where Solas had disappeared into the shadows.  Silent and resolute, the tears still came, even so. 


	22. Distorted Reflections

Varania returned to Skyhold alone.

She tried to keep herself from overthinking, from rehashing what happened; rethinking every single word he said.  She knew it was a pointless exercise.

Solas pulled that polite mask back down over his face and the man she thought she knew disappeared underneath it. His voice cracked when he spoke, pain in each syllable I'm sorry but then he walked away.

It didn't change anything. Whatever his reasons were, he thought they were important and all she could do is wait.

She would wait.  

If Varania learned anything from her mistakes, it was that rushing in with fear never solved anything.  She almost destroyed herself and her brother from fear.  She was terrified she might lose Solas forever.  His face was as impassive as stone.

She tried to just keep breathing.

She decided the best thing to do would be to throw herself into the Inquisition for all she was worth. There was plenty to be done and Solas was right about one thing.  The last thing she needed to be was distracted.  She couldn't fall apart on the eve of trying to take down Corypheus.  

If she failed they would all lose everything. She would lose everything; Solas included.

It wasn't helping that the damn Well was speaking, whispering, singing into her head; little quiet things and songs and knowledge she couldn't quite hear or understand.  She struggled to hear the voices.  They were trying to tell her something.   It was something important and it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, goosebumps prickling on her skin.

She rode back into Skyhold at dawn just in time to see Solas disappear into the Keep.  She considered following him but resisted, the knuckles of her fingers white on the reins as she dismounted in the stable.  Blackwall gave her a look, cocking his head at her.  He  was still working on the griffin rocking horse, rubbing at the rough edges of the wood.  He nodded in greet and turned back to his work without speaking.

It was how he coped with the demons that plagued him.  She wished she had a thing like that, something that would occupy her idle thoughts in the long hours between the dramatic moments.  She considered sitting with him for a while, just listening to the scrape scrape of the stone on the wood, taking in the scent of hay and sawdust.  Maybe it would calm her too.  

From the corner of her eye she spotted movement.  One of Leliana's agents came running, wide-eyed and flushed.  He seemed helpless to explain what was happening.  All he could manage was to ask her to follow.

He led her through the courtyard, steps moving even faster as they passed through the hall into the the garden.  There was another equally flustered looking scout standing at the open door to the room where Morrigan kept her Eluvian.

Varania almost didn't want to go any closer but she complied. The Eluvian was open, shimmering in undulations of blue and violet.  Leliana wrung her hands as she watched the molten surface, her expression helpless.  She turned at the sound of their feet, her face uncharacteristically bewildered.

"Inquisitor, we need your help," she said.  Her words were clipped.  "Morrigan chased into at the Eluvian after her son. I've never seen her like that before...she's usually-" Leliana shook her head. "Something is very, very wrong. You must go after her."

Varania liked Kieran; she liked his old soul and his unexpected innocence. She still remembered his tears when he learned the man who was his father had been lost in the Fade.  She didn't like the idea of stepping into the mirror without being certain where it led, but she was the Inquisitor even if she felt like falling to pieces.  She gathered her courage and did it anyway.  The magic of the mirror was strong; stronger than she remembered.  She closed her eyes tight as she passed through and didn't open them again until she felt the magic recede.  She opened her eyes again, blinking, expecting to find the crossroads.  

The greenish sky, the queasy unbalanced feeling hit her immediately.  There was no denying it. This was the Fade.  

How had Kieran done this? How was this even possible? She knew Morrigan had believed that the mirror could be directed to the Fade, but Varania never imagined it was really possible.  The Veil, despite the rifts and the anchor, seemed too immutable to breach this way.

She heard Morrigan's voice cry out through the pale, wavering light.

"Kieran!"

Varania stumbled forward, her feet crunching on stones under her feet, even though she knew they weren't really stones.  Morrigan's head snapped in her direction, her gold eyes wide, terrified.

"Please, Inquisitor.  Help me find my son."  Her words were without volume, but choked with emotion.  Morrigan's normal cool exterior was shattered.  

"Of course.  We'll find him."

Morrigan looked at her hands.  "The Fade is infinite; he could be anywhere.  But he's my son.  I need to try."

Varania only nodded.  She didn't understand what it meant to have a child, but she could imagine.  Even the idea of her brother's child being lost, a little girl she only knew in the slightest, terrified her.

A lump in her throat made it too hard to speak.  

So much loss.  So much heartbreak.  They needed to find Kieran; something had to go right.

 

***

 

Mythal.

How could it....she was Mythal?

Varania’s head was spinning.

She had never heard of Flemeth or Asha'bellanar until she came to Clan Lavellan outside of Kirkwall.  She was both a fairy tale and a nightmare spoken of in hushed whispers.   In her wildest imagining she couldn’t have predicted this.  Standing front of her was a Witch of the Wilds and all along she had the soul of their beloved Mythal inside of her.

Solas was right.  The Dalish were wrong.  About everything.

For a moment, it seemed like Mythal was a monster, come to snatch Kieran away,  But Mythal...Flemeth....whatever she wished to be called, looked at Kieran with love.  Though Morrigan bristled beside her and Mythal’s compulsion made Varania keep her still, she would have done it anyway.  Whatever Flemeth was intending, Varania could feel in her heart that it wasn’t to hurt Kieran.  Flemeth held his arms tenderly and made a tiny gesture with her head, a spot in Kieran's chest starting to glow.  

Kieran pulled away suddenly and Flemeth's eyes widened.  She reached for him and he put up his hand, the voice that came from him deeper, more mature than he'd ever sounded before.

"Wait."  His eyes, not gold like Morrigan's or Flemeth's, but a perfectly normal amber brown seemed to look through her.  He smiled but it was not a child's smile.  "I have something to tell her and soon I'll forget."

A moment of understanding passed between them.

Kieran turned to Varania and spoke.  "I cannot help you," he said, an otherworldly vibration in his voice.  "What you want..."  He made a sad sound but didn't elaborate.  She knew what he meant, even if she didn't know how he knew.

_Solas._

"I cannot help you," he repeated and the words felt like slivers of ice in her chest.  "But you can help another find happiness."  He got a far away look for a moment and nodded thoughtfully.  "Yes, that will help you see through what you must do.  Knowing that love can overcome even the most impossible odds?  Yes, that is what you need."

"I don't understand."  Her own voice sounded too small in comparison to his.

"You will."  Kieran smiled again, his eyes twinkled.  "Return to The Fallow Mire.  There is another unopened Rift where Watcher of the Skies stands vigil.  When you open the Rift, beware.  Demons will emerge but not alone.  Be careful what you strike at.  Not everything from the Fade is a lie."

As suddenly as he began, Kieran fell silent and turned back to Flemeth.  He smiled with such heartbreaking trust when he looked at her than it made Varania’s chest ache.

“No more dreams?” he asked quietly.

“No more dreams.”  Her voice...that was the voice the Dalish dreamt their lady Mythal would have.  This was a mother, the caregiver.  Beside her Morrigan was as tense as a bow string.

A little glow of light.  It happened so quickly, Varania wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, but when Kieran turned back to them everything had changed.  He was just a little boy.  

Morrigan’s voice cracked and Kieran fell into her arms. “Mother!” She cried out after Flemeth, but she was already gone.


	23. The Rift in the Mire

It was good to have something to do.

Perhaps it wasn’t to further the Inquisition, but there was nothing Varania could do right now that would.  All they could do was wait for Corypheus to show himself, to leave some clue they could follow.  

She couldn’t get Kieran’s face out of her head.  Whatever was waiting for her in the Fallow Mire, it was important.  She could feel it.  And if nothing else, it was a goal.  It was something that would keep her from self imposed solitude and from rehashing what happened at the waterfall in her head over and over.

It was impossible to not be reminded.  

It wasn’t until after she, Morrigan and Kieran stumbled back out of the Fade that anyone noticed her face.  But since then, even when they didn’t say anything, their eyes all asked the same question.

_You look different._

Her vallaslin was gone.  She was not unhappy they were gone but she’d lost far more than her blood writing.  She avoided the rotunda.

She readied herself instead to go to the Mire.  It was distracting and it was easier to keep those recriminating thoughts away. Morrigan had agreed to accompany her and she sent runners to fetch Blackwall and Varric.  Between the four of them, she expected they could manage anything the rift threw at them.  It would be harder without Solas’s magic, but she didn’t want to ask.  

Varric showed first, hastily tying his loose hair back behind his head.  He wasn’t paying much attention, fiddling with the leather thong as he walked.

“So what’s the big…” He looked up and stopped talking, a quizzical expression sliding onto his face when he noticed hers with its newly distinct lack of decoration.  “Huh.”

Varania blinked slowly.  “Go ahead,” she said, opening them again.  “Ask.”

Varric made a face, considering.  He seemed to be trying to read her like one of his books.  “Later,” he said, maybe seeing her reluctance.  “After whatever this is.”  He made a vague hand gesture.  “Looks nice though.”

Varania let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.  It was easy to feel like she was alone in all this, but sometimes her friends surprised her.  A smile semblance of a smile crept into her eyes.

 _Her friends._ She’d honestly never expected to be able to say that.

“Inquisitor?” A voice interrupted her.  It was the runner she’d sent after Blackwall.  He was a plain boy, young and ready to serve.  His armor was still shiny but he was frowning.  “Blackwall is gone.”

Her smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.  She put on her best Inquisitor voice.  “See if anyone has seen him or knows what’s happened while we are gone.  But first, see if you can find Iron Bull.  We need to leave soon.”

“Of course Inquisitor.”  He nodded sharply and scurried off again.  Varania watched his back as he disappeared around the corner.  Of all the people she expected might leave the Inquisition, Blackwall certainly had never come to mind.  He seemed so steady and stable.  She didn’t like it.

“Well, that’s weird,” Varric said, moving up to stand beside her.  

“It is,” Varania muttered.  It gave her an eerie feeling but she tried to push it down.  One crisis at a time was all she could handle.

Before Varric could reply, Morrigan appeared and sauntered toward them. He cleared his throat instead.  Morrigan had a way of halting conversations.

“Are we ready to depart?” Morrigan asked.  It felt strange to talk Morrigan instead of Dorian or even Vivienne as another set of magical hands but it was her son who pointed them towards this. Varania couldn't blame her for wanting to join them.  She was only doing what she felt she had to in order to protect Kieran.

“Shortly,” Varania replied.  She took a breath and let it out sharply.  “Has Kieran recovered completely?  Did he say anything else?”

Morrigan shook her head.  “He is quite well, but no, he has said nothing more about the Mire.  He recalls everything, but he doesn’t remember why he said what he did.  ‘Tis…” She paused.  “Not unexpected.”

Varania pursed her lips.  “Is he different?”

“No, not particularly.  He is still the same curious boy as always.  It is a comfort.”

Varania still didn’t completely understand; she wasn’t sure she wanted to.  Mage or not, there were things she wasn’t prepared to know.  She still feared.  Tevinter’s demons lingered.

Varric was surprisingly quiet.  He usually had something to say to everyone, but Morrigan seemed to cow him.  He fiddled with Bianca and carefully ignored them.  

As they waited, a group of refugees started to make their way across the bridge into the keep.  It was still daily occurrence.  Varania always thought the arrivals would taper off eventually as they stabilized things -- the mages and templars no longer fighting, the Orlesian civil war stopped -- yet they came every day; groups of bedraggled souls looking for refuge.  

She never turned them away.  They found a place for everyone, whether they could contribute or not.  If she wouldn’t help them, she wasn’t much of an Inquisitor.  She couldn’t bear the idea that she was only here because of a random act of fate putting the anchor into her hand.  She wanted to be someone worthy of the title and that meant helping everyone she could.  She prided herself on that, even as it stretched their resources to their limits.

This group looked haggard and exhausted as they usually did, but on the whole they seemed uninjured.  A few mages stood out among the farmers, carrying staffs and using them to support themselves.  Surprisingly, a Templar in dented and tarnished armor travelled with them as well.  He was old but seemed in control of his faculties, which Cullen told her was rare.  Near the rear, one woman leaned heavily on her staff as she walked, hugely pregnant and struggling.  Her face was too thin, her skin very pale under its dusting of freckles.  The Templar walked beside her, supporting her as they made their way through the gates.  

Varania felt a pang of jealousy.  She wasn’t likely to ever have that chance.  She was made for taking lives out of the world it seemed, not bring them in.  At the same time, she feared for her.  This was no time to have a baby.  

The mages already part of the Inquisition took turns in the courtyard, knowing that any new arrivals or returning soldiers would need immediate attention.  Today, Fiona herself was tending to the wounded, wiping brows and feeding those too weak to do it themselves as well as using her magic to heal when she could.  Varania turned to watch the refugees pass.  They didn’t recognize her, perhaps because the Inquisitor was known to be a Dalish elf and these days she didn’t appear as one of them any more.  She swallowed bitterness in her throat.

Fiona looked up as the group drew closer and her eyes got big as saucers.  She leapt to her feet, rushing through the group in a straight line toward the heavily pregnant mage.

“You’re alive?” She looked shocked but then smiled broadly. It wasn’t a common expression for her. “I was certain you were dead; I thought for certain you’d died at the conclave.”  

The woman shook her head, curls that escaped from the knot on the back of her head swinging..  “I didn’t make it.  I was sick, so sick and magic didn’t help.  Of course, it wouldn’t because I was pregnant, not sick.”  Her shoulders shuddered.  “I thought I was too old.  I thought he was too old,  I never imagined…” Before she could finish, Fiona hugged her close.  

Varania smiled.  Perhaps that Templar was her lover?  It wasn’t uncommon she’d found, and as time passed, the invisible barrier between the two groups seemed to fade away. The Templar had walked away, going to help others without another look at the woman.  Perhaps not him.  Honestly, it didn’t matter.

This child, these people, they were the reason she was doing this.  People were surviving.  Life went on, no matter what horrors were happening.  She felt a surge of resolve.  She hoped by the time they returned from the Mire, Cullen would have some word of Corypheus.  She wanted to end this not just because it was right, but because she wanted the unexpected child in that mage’s belly to grow up in an untainted world.  

She might never have a child of her own, but she could save one.  She could save many of them and that would have to be enough.

Her attention was focused so closely on Fiona and her friend that she never heard the soft cadence of footsteps behind her.  She heard his voice before she saw him.

“Inquisitor.”  That voice made goosebumps raise on her skin.  It always had, but it felt different now.  She turned slowly and somewhat reluctantly to see Solas walking toward her with Iron Bull, staff in hand.  “I understand you’re going to open a rift.”

“Hey Boss,” Bull interrupted, slapping a hand down on Solas’s shoulder.  “Is it time to go kick some demons in the ass?”

She cleared her throat, looking to find her voice.  “Maybe.”  She couldn’t help but look at Solas but his face was impassive as stone.  “I’m not sure what we’ll find, but we need to be ready for anything.”

“Great,” Bull said.  He cocked his head, his horns tilting almost comically.  She might have laughed if her heart hadn’t been in the pit of her stomach.  “Hm.  Tattoos are gone.  Bet that’s a story.”  He seemed to read her expression and he stopped before asking anything else.  Despite how he seemed, Bull was very observant.  “Anyway, we can finish that chess game on the way.  I'll kick your ass this time Solas.”

Solas gave a wry smile and and looked at Bull out of the corner of his eye.  “Anything could happen.”

This was not going the way she planned.

Grand thoughts aside, Varania had grasped on the idea of going to Mire more selfishly than she’d wanted to admit.  She wanted to get away from Skyhold, from Solas, from the way looking at him made her chest ache.  She didn’t want him walking silently beside her, carrying on his chess match with Bull, his voice hurting her every time he spoke.

He was being too normal; too much the same as he’d always been.  She wondered if she’d really known him at all.

“So, where were we? Ah, yes. Mage to C4.” Solas’s voice felt like icy fingers on her neck.

“Little agressive,” Bull replied, a smirk in his voice.  “Arishok to H4. Check.”

Varania did her best to tune them out.  It wasn’t easy.  The Mire awaited them.  All she could do was keep moving forward.

 

***

 

They found the Watcher of Sky almost exactly where they’d left him months before.  He was an agent of the Inquisition now though he never left the Mire.  Despite the soggy ground, refugees still made their way through the area and he would send word and offer aid, while still doing the religious duties he thought were necessary.  

He seemed a good man, even if he was as alien as if he was from another world.

He didn’t look at them as they approached but his posture changed when he heard their footsteps.  His big shoulders slumped just slightly under his furs in relief.

“Good that you’re here.  This rift; it just tore open.  I was about to send someone for you.”

Of course it did.  She would have been shocked if that was even still possible.  She almost couldn’t imagine something sincerely shocking her anymore.  

“I knew it would,” she admitted.  “It’s why we came.”  She turned to face her companions.  She needed to be the Inquisitor now so she studiously refused to look at Solas and tried to keep her composure.  “This may not be like the other rifts we’ve dealt with.”  She was proud of how her voice didn’t waver. “I was directed here specifically.  There is something special about this rift.”  She didn’t know why it was different any more than they did, but she didn’t let on. “It’s too much to explain now, but it’s possible that something other than demons may be involved.  Be sure of your target before you engage.”  She gave Bull a pointed look.

“What?”  He shrugged at her dramatically.

She didn’t say anything, just looked at him.  They both knew how he was.

He looked a bit offended but then he grinned.  “I promise.”

She spared a glance for the others, crackles of lightning already dancing over Morrigan’s fingertips, Bianca readied in Varric’s hands.  As always, Solas stood passively, waiting.  He never made a single move that wasn’t needed.  He was patient, too patient.  He made her head hurt.

She spent too long just looking at him, tension blossoming in her forehead.  If only she could be angry.  If only she could scream at him, tell him that he was breaking her heart just standing there, insist he tell her why, but she couldn’t.  Even if she could, it wasn’t the time.  The anchor flared to life on her hand.

There was work to do.

Varania turned the palm of her hand toward the rift and the magic did the rest.  Bright green light burst forward and hit the rift with unerring accuracy.  She felt a crackle in the air around her as the Veil tore open.

Demons poured out like blood from a wound.  They were small ones, insubstantial and little more than congealed spirits.  They were easy enough to dispatch and certainly impossible to confuse for anything else.  But there were so many of them.  Usually five or six would spawn at a time, the power of the demons increasing the longer the rift remained open and the more demons it attracted. Instead there seemed to be a never ending stream of them.  Everywhere she looked there was the green and orange wavering glow of spirits, blasts of otherwordly energy deflecting off the barrier Solas had cast around them.

Bull’s sword sang through the air. Bolts flew from Bianca in every direction. Morrigan’s lightning flashed.  As they fought, the familiar sound of Solas casting beside her was oddly comforting, knowing he had her back.  She’d find time to be sad about it later.

The demons fell, one after the other.  None were much of a threat, but their sheer numbers began to wear on them.  Bull started to move slower.   Varania shot a bolt of energy at a nearby spirit and as it disappeared into nothing, the barrier around them failed, wavered and dissipated.

Just when it finally seemed they were making a dent in them, the rift began to vibrate, squeal with an ear splitting sound.  It was a sound she knew well.  Bull’s voice bellowed out over the din.

“Pride Demon!”

Varania spun to face the rift as two forms tumbled out.  She didn’t even have time to register what sort of thing the second one was before the Price Demon shrieked and flung his electrified lash towards her.  She didn’t have time to react, her mana already failing her.  She braced for the impact of the lash.

Solas screamed and a barrier sprung up around her just as the lash made contact.  The force flung her onto her back into the soggy ground, but the lightning never touched her.  She scrambled back to her feet.  Solas nodded at her, but he was unsteady on his feet. That had cost him.  She resisted the urge to go to him.  It wouldn’t do him any good if they didn’t defeat the Pride Demon first.  

Her staff slammed into the ground, a wave of energy blasting into the soil itself, radiating out towards the demon.  The ground shook; it shook, lost its balance.  The beast struggled to recover but it wasn’t fast enough.  The tip of Bull’s greatsword appeared through its sternum.

There was one more.  One more.

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught Varania’s attention and she spun around, raising her staff, pouring the last of her mana into it.  She felt it peak and the magic ready itself to spill.  She focused her eyes.

_Silver and blue armor._

Black hair.  The figure raised its head and familiar blue eyes met hers.

The magic sizzled and died.  Varania stared for a moment unable to process what she was seeing.  From behind her, she heard Varric’s voice.

“Oh shit….Inquisitor!” His voice grabbed her attention.  The rift was vibrating again.

“Close the rift before more come through!” Solas’s voice cut through the sound of the rift.

Varania spun around again and let the anchor do what it did, flaring to life on her palm.  It never seemed to need her mana or her participation and despite her exhaustion, the anchor’s light split through the fog and the rift closed with a crack.  

She stared at the spot in the air where it hung.  Her breath came in ragged gasps.  

“Well fuck me sideways,” Bull said.  

Varania closed her eyes for a moment, shaking her head.  Maybe she shouldn’t have been shocked, all things considered, but the world seemed intent on proving her wrong.  Slowly, she turned around just as the man in the blue and silver armor got to his feet and sheathed his sword.   

She was wrong.  The world was ready to surprise her at every turn.  

“Welcome back to Thedas,” she said, her voice a little thready and exhausted but with a genuine smile.  It was a smile that said she should have known. “Warden Loghain.”

 


	24. Truth and Hope

He didn’t want to talk about it and Varania didn’t blame him.  

Loghain looked terrible; thin, too thin, his hair overlong and hanging into his eyes, ringed with dark purple circles.  Granted, he looked dramatically better than she’d ever expected.  The fact that he wasn’t dead was a miracle in and of itself.

She wondered how much of this was Kieran and how much had truly been from whatever it was that Flemeth took from him.  Kieran was heartbroken to discover who his father was, only after he was dead but he was just a little boy, despite the wisdom she saw in his eyes.  Morrigan said her mother had wanted the spirit all along, but Varania couldn’t entirely wrap her head around it.  What exactly was it?

Loghain didn’t want to talk about what happened to him, but he had a question of his own.

“How did you know where to find me?”

Solas had once told her that the Fade corresponded to places in the real world, and he commented something to that effect in response, but he didn’t know the whole truth.  She hadn’t bothered to tell him, but he’d come anyway.

Varania wondered what that meant but didn’t have time to ponder it. Morrigan answered Loghain’s question with far more honesty than seemed typical for her.  Usually she was evasive; now she was direct.

“From your son before the spirit of the Old God was taken from him.” Morrigan’s voice didn’t waver, flat and emotionless.

Loghain stopped dead in his tracks.  They all did.  He looked at Morrigan blankly.  Everyone went deadly silent.  Even Bull said nothing, though when Varania glanced toward him she could see a flurry of words threatening to spill out.

Varania knew only a little about the Blight.  She’d been in Tevinter for the entire thing and the darkspawn had never gotten that far.  But she’d been given a chance to learn more than just spells once her magic manifested.  She knew the Chantry in Tevinter had a far different idea about the Blight than they did here in the south, but there was one thing they agreed on.

The Blight happened because an Old God was corrupted into an archdemon.

A Old God; an ancient dragon god of Tevinter.

_How?_

Varania didn’t even know where to begin.

“Does that mean?” Loghain spoke quietly, a hushed cadence of words that made the hair on her neck stand up.

Morrigan shook her head.  “No, he is not dead.  He is well.  But what we did to him….” Morrigan didn’t continue, just shook her head again and took a breath, looking at the ground.  She lifted her head sharply then, her eyes flashed defiantly.  “But do not fear that will change my promise to you.  Your daughter’s throne is safe.”

Loghain frowned, the creases around his mouth deep and shadowed.  

“That wasn’t what…” He began but Morrigan cut him off with a wave of her hand.  

“I know,” she said, her voice cracking at the end of the word.  “Now that it is done and this is done, there is naught more either of us can do for the Inquisition.  Kieran and I will be leaving as soon as is possible.”  She pursed her lips.  “But you are welcome to meet him, if you wish, assuming the Inquisitor does not plan to send you direct to Weisshaupt with the others.”  She turned her attention back to Varania.

Varania was utterly at a loss but she felt everyone’s attention turn to her for a decision.  Whatever she’d decided about the rest of the Grey Wardens, she wouldn’t send Loghain on a trip of a thousand miles without meeting his son, if he could even survive the journey in his current condition.  She’d let Blackwall stay after all, what was one more?

Blackwall was another mess she’d have to unravel once they returned, but she pushed that thought away.  

“Loghain is welcome at Skyhold for as long as he wishes.  He’s more than earned the right.”  She used her best Inquisitor voice, though it sounded hollow to her own ears.  She had so many questions, but she suspected that Morrigan would revert to her usual cryptic replies if she even tried.

They stood in silence again, exchanging glances.  Morrigan inspected her fingers as if they were immensely interesting.

Varric cleared his throat and Varania startled.  “Camp is just up ahead,” he said.  “Let’s ah...go there and...do...things.”  It was so unlike him to struggle to find words but she couldn’t blame him for being unnerved.

“Yeah, boss,” Bull chimed in, apparently holding up a little better or at least hiding it well.  “Sword’s gonna rust before we get there at this rate.”

She didn’t trust her ability to use her voice at this point.  Instead, Varania nodded and turned back toward the trail that lead to the Mire camp.  She heard their footsteps start up behind her.

Solas was conspicuously silent but his face had a strangely satisfied expression before she’d turned away.  She didn’t dare contemplate what that meant.

 

***

 

The camp was efficient and familiar.  They were all similar, no matter where they were and it was comforting in its familiarity.  The medics immediately took charge of Loghain, ushering him into a tent.  The others found their own solace in food and rest and banal conversation, though they all carefully avoided the proverbial demon in the room.  

Varania had so many things to consider that she couldn’t think of anything as stood just inside the ring of warmth from the fire staring blankly into the flames.  She didn’t want to eat or rest or even sit.  It felt like if she stopped standing she’d never be able to get up again.

But Loghain was alive and at least that was something good.  She tried to cling on to that idea but it was slippery.  The voices of the Well were utterly silent.

She heard footsteps approach.  They were tentative, hesitant.  She took a deep breath and sighed.  She’d wasn’t going to fall apart.  She was just tired.  And heartbroken. And she didn't want to talk about it.  Not about Loghain or Old Gods or her vallaslin or anything.  She turned towards the sound, planning to snap at whoever it was to leave her alone.

Varania spun around and the threatening, caustic words died in her throat.

“Inquisitor.”

“Solas.”

“Might I have a moment of your time?”  His voice was soft, neutral.  She wished she could snap at him like she would have to anyone else, but she found she couldn’t.  He made her chest ache instead.

“Of course.”  

He gestured with his hand for her to follow and she did without hesitation.  A part of her niggled at the realization that she’d follow him to the Black City if he only asked.  It made her worried for her sanity.  Instead she staunchly refused to think about it as she walked behind him, trying not to be taken in by the swaggering grace of his steps.  

They moved just outside of the camp nestled in a valley between the rounded stones and stopped at the edge of a stream where it flowed silently into a small pond, still as a sleeping eluvian.  Since they’d been here last, the dead no longer walked when the water was disturbed, but it felt ominous nonetheless.

“I’m sorry,” Solas said, voice still quiet.  A part of her pricked up at his words, looking at him expectantly.  Maybe he’d come to his senses, maybe he was… “I should not have assumed you required my assistance but when I heard you were coming to open a rift, I felt compelled.  Perhaps my curiosity overcame my better judgement as it too frequently does.” He snorted a mirthless laugh.  “I apologize if I intruded.”

Varania’s heart sank.  

“No it’s...it’s fine,” she managed to eek out.  “You spared me from a nasty burn from that demon.  I should thank you instead of you apologizing.”

Solas nodded.  “I was glad to be of assistance.  I only...I don’t wish to make this any more difficult than it perhaps already is.”

Something inside her snapped.  She wrapped her arms around herself, tears welling into her eyes.  “Perhaps? _Perhaps_ harder?”  She let out her breath in a sound of frustration.  “If you don’t want to make this harder, then just _don’t_.”  Solas took a half step away from her.  “Don’t you dare walk away,” she snapped before he could move any further.  

He didn’t move again, but his mouth was a thin line across his face.  

“Say something!” she spat at him.  “How...you said…” Her voice cracked. Her face was hot.  “You said….”

“I said,” he muttered, looking at the ground and then back up again. His eyebrows drew down at the corners.  “I said I would hurt you. And I have.”

“But why?” she implored.  She untangled a hand from around her middle and batted at her eyes.  “Why won’t you talk to me?  You said…”  She repeated herself, desperate to finish what she’d begun before he interrupted her.  Her lungs burned.  “You said you loved me.”

Solas looked like she’d slapped him across the face.  He was as pale as she’d ever seen him. His lip twitched.

“I do.”  He didn’t look away, though she could see him struggle not to.

Her voice was a ragged whisper. “Then why?”

“Because it cannot change what is to come, no matter how much I might wish it to.”  He looked away this time, shoulders sagging.  “I am sorry for more things than you could possibly understand.”

Varania struggled to speak but her words were choked away by the tears she suddenly couldn’t control.  She hadn’t let herself fall apart before.  She’d been trying so hard to be strong, to hang on to that part of her that had faith in what they felt for each other.  But the tears came, streaming down her face no matter how hard she tried to quell them.  It was impossible to breathe.

Solas looked back at her and swallowed hard.  She saw him waver, saw his resolve waver.  He closed his eyes slowly and opened them again.  He turned back to her, reached out and wiped tears from the ridge of her cheekbone with his thumb.  

“I never wanted to hurt you, vhenan,” he murmured.  “But better that it is now.  Better now, before,” he paused and swallowed again.  “Before things are different.”  He tried to smile at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes.  “You are much stronger than you think.  This will not break you.”

He dropped his hand and turned away again.  She instinctively reached out toward him but let her hand drop, letting him walk away. His feet made damp sounds against the soggy ground. Varania swallowed her tears and her heart and let him go.  Again.  She wiped at her face, fanning herself, willing the heat in her skin to subside.

She straightened her back.  He was right about one thing.  After all she’d been through, after all she’d overcome, Varania was strong.  She was even stronger than he thought she was.  She wasn’t giving up on him, no matter what he said.  Her heart pounded against her ribs.

_You said you loved me._

_I do._

There was hope, no matter how grim and fatalistic Solas insisted on being.  There was always hope.  She would simply have to have enough for them both. 


	25. Unexpected Beginnings

The sound of a newborn baby’s cry rang out across Skyhold.  

Varania expected there to be questions and certainly shock when they returned with a man they’d held a memorial for, but she hadn’t expected all the smiles, the tears in their eyes.  That sound, that incredible, unmistakable sound was infectious.  Lusty and strong, that cry insisted that life refused to bow down in the face of Corypheus or war or death.

“You know,” Varric commented as they made their way through the waning evening light in the courtyard, “Never was much on kids myself, but this is definitely going into my next book.” Varania gave Varric a smile of her own.  They were all in much better spirits after some rest despite the trek up the mountain path back to the keep and Varric’s eyes twinkled at her.

“Look at ‘em all,” He continued.  “It’s like we won already.”

Varania shot Solas a look over Varric’s head.  “We will.”

Solas was the exception to their improved mood.  Not even cajoling from Bull had elicited a reaction from him.  After a while, they just let him be, following behind them, walking alone and in silence.  Varania stared at him pointedly now, insisting on some sort of response.  He seemed to fight against an expression but acquiesced eventually, nodding in agreement but didn’t speak. He held her gaze for just a little too long before turning to go.  He headed for the stairs and disappeared through the archway beneath them.  

Just as he slipped into the shadows, Fiona came dashing down the stairs above his head, grinning widely.  She was so sedate most of the time, trying to be so carefully reserved after all that had happened, but there was joy radiating from her.  It was such a rare emotion these days filled with death and tragedy around every corner.  It was beautiful to see.

There were a group of mages at the bottom of the stairs who were clearly waiting for her.  Circle Mages, from the flutter of their multicolored robes, though not a one wasn’t patched or faded now.

“Well?”

“Tell us!”

“Is everything okay?

They all seemed to speak at once until Fiona shushed them with a raised hand.  Her face was still beaming when she spoke.  

“It’s a boy!”

There were cheers and congratulations as if Fiona had borne the child herself, not that somewhat wan looking red-haired mage who’d come to Skyhold just as they were leaving for the Mire as Varania assumed.  Varania made her way towards the gathered mages, Varric, Bull and Loghain still behind her.  At some point, Morrigan slipped away, though Varania wasn’t surprised.

“Grand Enchanter,” Varania said.  She knew it was no longer Fiona’s title, but it seemed right to use it.  “It appears you have wonderful news.”

Fiona turned towards them, her dark green eyes damp with happy tears.  “Yes and we desperately needed some.  Everything went splendidly.  Mother and child are….” She stopped talking suddenly, the blood draining from her face, her mouth falling open.  “ _Andraste’s tits,_ ” she cursed.

Varania frowned.  “What is it?”

Fiona’s face couldn’t decide on an expression, flickering between various shades of bewilderment, confusion and shock.  The corner of her mouth almost smirked, but then something passed through her eyes and she frowned instead.  

“Loghain.”  She said his name quietly.  She had come to his memorial but left early as Varania recalled, looking vaguely ill the entire time.  At the time, it hadn’t seemed terribly important.  She heard some half rumor that Fiona had known the former Teyrn years ago, but she didn’t know any details.    

She heard Loghain from behind her, his voice almost painfully neutral.  “Fiona.”

“How? We thought you were dead.” Fiona’s voice was just barely a whisper.  The mages that had come for her happy news looked immediately uncomfortable and they began nervously moving away, trying too hard to be casual.

Loghain laughed in reply but Varania was certain she’d never heard a more bitter sound.  “I am as surprised as you are.”

“Not yet you are not.”  Fiona closed her mouth and pursed her lips.  She swallowed.  Licked her lips nervously.  

Varania turned to look at Loghain who was watching Fiona impassively, his arms crossed over his chest.  He looked better than he did when he first fell out of the Fade, the medics having done their usual good work, but he still looked diminished, smaller, older than he had before.  

Fiona spoke again.  “The child is doing very well; healthy, robust.” she said, continuing where she left off earlier, despite the fact that her previous audience of fellow Circle mages had slunk away in discomfort.  She smiled faintly though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.  “Quite the mop of curly black hair,” she added.  She took a deep breath before she continued.  “His mother is quite enamored with him though she was understandably disturbed to hear that the father of her child had died.”  She let out a sharp breath.  “Finding him still alive is going to be quite a shock.”

“What?” Varania blurted out before anyone else had a chance to ask.  

No one spoke for a few heartbeats.  Varania turned her face back to Loghain.  He’d dropped his arms and his face was pale.  He looked like he wanted to speak but was at a loss for words.

“The mother is _Adrian_ ,” Fiona said softly.  Varania recognized the name from the letter they found in the Fade. Loghain made a strangled sound.  “She never made it to the conclave, but she did make it here,” Fiona continued.  “She told me what happened in Montsimmard and I had the painful job of telling her what had happened to the disgraced Fereldan Grey Warden who had, beyond all reasonable expectations, planted a child in her.”  She gave a breathy laugh.  “I don’t even know what to tell her now. But congratulations Loghain, your son is beautiful.”

“Maker,” was all Loghain managed when he finally spoke.  “How is this even possible?”

Fiona laughed resentfully.  “You of all people should be well aware that both Grey Wardens and what is possible are not at all black and white.”

“I don’t even know what to say.” Loghain words were choked with emotion.

Fiona considered and crossed her arms over her chest, mirroring his earlier posture.  “Tell me one thing, Loghain,” she began.  “Are Adrian’s feelings, her memories of your time in Montsimmard only nostalgia or…”

“No,” Loghain interrupted her.  “It was real.”  He took a shaky breath.  “Though I can’t blame you for doubting me. I am not entirely the same man you met all those years ago.”

“Good,” she said.  “Then let’s go.” She frowned.  “Actually, give me a few moments.  If you just go rushing in there, she’s probably going to assume you’re a demon and hit you with a fireball.”

Loghain chuckled.  “That sounds like Adrian.”

Fiona smirked genuinely this time as she turned to go back up the stairs.  Loghain watched her go and shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what had just transpired.  Varania wasn’t sure she understood entirely, but she could assume.  Loghain had fallen in love with a mage, a friend of Fiona’s.  A woman who was lucky to be alive presumably, since so many died at the Conclave.  Perhaps this explained some of her conversation with him that late night as she waited for Solas to return.  Just the thought of Solas made her heart thump hard in her chest.

“I could swear I was still in the Fade,” Loghain said quietly.  “Demons were quite adept at trying to give me what I wanted.”

Varania was still looking at the stairs, trying not to picture Solas sitting quietly at his desk in the rotunda and failing miserably.  If this was the Fade, she wouldn’t still be losing him.  “It seems pretty real to me.”

“I don’t know how....”  Loghain’s voice shook a little.   He took a deep breath as Varania turned to look at him.  His face wore the ghost of a smile.  “Thank you Inquisitor, for a lot of things.  And now, I have to….”  He paused and this time, he actually smiled, putting his hand on Varania’s arm.  “I have to go meet my son.”

“I hope to meet him soon.”  She returned his smile.  As fragile as her heart felt, she couldn’t help but reciprocate a smile that sincere.  Loghain nodded and headed towards the stairs.  He paused at the bottom, looking up the length of the stones with that same unexpected, brilliant smile on his face.  He took a step and kept going until he was gone through the tall double doors of the hall.  

“Well,” Varric said from behind her.  She’d almost forgotten he was even there.  “After that, I think I need a drink.”

“Several,” Bull agreed.  “Join us?”

Varania shook her head.  She didn’t think she’d be much for company.  She couldn’t even sort out how she felt.  This moment, this entire thing seemed like something out of a story -- the completely unlikely chance for two people to find each other again, despite overwhelming odds.  It was the sort of fantasy she often entertained when she lived among the Dalish, dreaming of someone, some handsome elf, coming in and sweeping her off her feet, loving her despite her past and all her terrible, foolish past mistakes.  For a few aching heartbeats, it felt like she’d gotten her wish when she met Solas but then it was snatched away again.  

She was happy for Loghain and painfully jealous and mortified that she felt that way all at once.  

“Next time,” she mumbled, knowing Bull and Varric were still waiting for a reply.

“Right,” Varric said, not pressing her further.  “I’m sure you have Inquisitorial things to do. All right then Bull, let’s see if my dwarven constitution can out pace Qunari brute force.”

“You’re on,” Bull laughed.  “First round’s on me.”

They headed off towards the Herald’s Rest, leaving Varania standing there alone.  The blessing and the curse of being the Inquisitor meant that people rarely tried to make small talk with her.  She was in a keep surrounded by people and she hadn’t felt this alone since the night she ran from Kirkwall.  She struggled.  All she wanted to do was go to see Solas; to tell him everything that happened, to tell him what she thought she knew about Morrigan and Loghain’s other son and now his new son; to share her thoughts with him because sometimes it seemed like he was the only one who understood her at all.  But she wondered now if she’d known him at all.  Maybe it was a failing on her part. He pushed her away for a reason. She resolved to go speak with him, but not for the selfish reasons swirling in her head.  

Perhaps he didn’t want her any longer, but she still cared about him . He was her friend.  She needed to be a better friend to him, even if it broke her heart.

He was going to need some time but soon, she promised herself, she would try to talk to him.  Maybe then...maybe someday he’d tell her what was really going on if she offered him her support without all the strings attached.  

Whatever happened, it wasn’t her turn for a happy ending, not yet.  
 


End file.
